Lost Little Bird
by mermaidsahoy
Summary: Sansa is fleeing from the Queen and becomes lost in the woods, only to be found by a massive dog named the Hound. A little bit of Snow White, Red Riding Hood, and other fairytale goodies sprinkled in for flavor.
1. Chapter 1

This was originally going to be a one-shot, but I decided to make it longer.

I wanted to give Sandor a chance at having some magical qualities. You should be able to pick out some fairytale inspirations :) Hope you enjoy!

The branches clawed at Sansa's arms as she pushed through the tangled growth of bushes and trees of the Dark Forest. Tears stained her dirty cheeks as she looked about herself wildly, searching for a place to run to. A cold wind blew, stirring the dead rotting leaves around her ankles, and Sansa stared into the darkness that was creeping down from the sky, and she knew she was lost.

Pausing to catch her breath, Sansa ran her trembling hands up and down her arms, trying to provide some warmth. She wasn't dressed for such weather. The sleeves of her simple woolen dress were thin, and now they were ripped from running through the woods. A thorn bush had caught hold of her skirt earlier and ripped through the material. A sob escaped her mouth as she took in her surroundings.

She had no money, nothing of value on her person. The knight had told her to run away, and never come back, or it would be her death. The irony was that it seemed she would die anyways.

A bat screeched overhead, and Sansa ducked, frightened. She began to walk again, footsore that she was. She had no idea how long she had been wandering in the forest; hours, most likely. Surely there had to cottage or some shack nearby. Someplace in which she could find shelter.

The forest became filled with the sounds of twilight: creatures hooted and called to each other, obscured from Sansa's sight. She shivered, and tried not to think of the old stories she had heard about monsters, and trees with eyes and mouths full of teeth. They were just tall tales, meant scare children into obeying and being good, but now, all alone in this desolate wood…Sansa's imagination began to run away with her. She thought she saw eyes peering at her through the trees, and she backed away into a tall oak, bumping against the bark. The movement disturbed a flock of bats, which began to swirl around her and screech.

Sansa cried out, trying to shield herself with her arms, and ran. She pushed through the foliage, desperate to find an escape.

Finding herself in a small clearing, Sansa turned around to glance where she had just run from, fearful the bats had followed her. The forest suddenly became quieter, as if the animals were holding their breaths. Crickets chirped in a futile attempt to break the silence. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she slowly backed away towards a thick clump of bushes.

Something like hot air brushed against the back of her head, and Sansa froze. It was heavy breathing, with a low snarl to it. The hairs on the back of her neck and arms rose, and she looked over her shoulder.

Gleaming slate-grey eyes stared at her, and the faint outline of a snout protruded from the darkness. Her mouth dropped open, and she began to walk away, unable to run or tear her eyes away from the large bulk. It followed her, the black mass taking shape. It was a giant dog, almost wolf-like. It had pitch-dark hair, bristled, and its jaws opened slightly, giving her a look at its powerful teeth. It was about the size of a bear, and muscular beneath the fur.

Sansa gave a muffled cry as she tripped over a tree root, and shuffled backwards on her hands as the dog moved closer. She was stopped at the trunk of a tree, and with a chill she realized she was trapped, pinned between the tree and this monster. The dog came closer until its massive face was near her own, the hot breath fanning her face. Sansa stared back, frozen in terror.

Then it spoke.

"What do we have here?" The voice was throaty and deep, with a harsh scraping undertone. Sansa blinked in surprise and confusion, still fearful as the dog's eyes studied her. "What's a pretty thing like you doing in these woods? Not that I'm complaining." The right side of the dog's mouth pulled up, like a smirk. He was so close Sansa could see a jagged scar peering through the thick fur by his right eye, and the ear above it was chewed and gnarled.

He looked like he was expecting her to say something. "P-please," she whispered. "Don't…don't…eat…me." She had curled up into a ball at the base of the tree, shaking. "Eat you?" the dog rasped, cocking its head. "You look too skinny and bony to be worth a meal. Still…" he trailed off and gave a rumbling chuckle. "You might be tender and sweet." Sansa gulped as fresh tears threatened to escape her eyes. Had she run from one death only to die at the hands of this beast?

The dog had been looking down at her, he was so large, and suddenly he thrust his nose into her hair and neck, sniffing. Sansa gasped, petrified, certain he was going to bite her. Instead she heard the rumbling again. "You do smell good, girl," the dog growled softly. He leaned back again, and he looked like he wanted to swallow her whole.

"I'll ask again: what are you doing in these woods? They belong to me, you know." Sansa swallowed. "I-I'm lost. I was running away. Please…let me go." The dog gave a snort. "And what were you running away from? Was your needlework crooked?" He chuckled again, sitting back on his haunches. He was so tall he still towered over Sansa's trembling form. "I was running from the Queen," she whispered. "She wanted to kill me." The dog's ears perked and he studied her severely. "The Queen, huh?" Sansa nodded. Maybe if she kept talking the dog would forget about eating her. "Yes. She had one of the knights take me out to pick flowers, then…he pulled a knife out, and said he had to kill me…but he couldn't do it, and he told me the Queen had ordered him to, and he told me to run away and never come back." She shuddered, remembering the crazed look in the knight's eyes as he had battled between letting her go and following out his orders. "I ran and ran, but now…I don't know where I am." Her bottom lip quivered.

The dog was silent for a moment. "Why would the Queen want you dead? You're just a girl." "I don't know. The knight said something about her being jealous." The dog blinked and cocked his head again. "Tell me, girl…what is your name?" "Sansa. Sansa Stark." The dog gave a sort of _harrumph_. "I thought so. You're the princess." "Or was," Sansa added tearfully. "It makes sense now." The dog leered at her. "What I heard was true. You _are _pretty. No wonder the Queen was jealous; she's drying up and you're young and fresh."

Things seemed to be turning in her favor, so Sansa dared to venture a request. "Please…do you know where I can stay the night? I'm sorry to trespass in your woods; I didn't know." The dog peered at her. "Didn't know?" he barked. "You don't know who I am?" Puzzled, Sansa shook her head. "Your nurse never told you stories about these woods?" "She did, but- "How about the story of the Hound?" Sansa's brow furrowed, then a shock ran through her. The Hound! Of course! She remembered now. The myth was that some kind of ferocious dog-beast ruled the woods and could even command other animals, and sometimes made off with children if they wandered away too far.

"You're…the Hound?" she whispered, fresh fear pouring through her veins. Now she was truly dead. The dog rumbled again and uttered a short, gruff laugh. "In the flesh. Honored to meet you, Princess." He stood and moved back a bit. "Come now." Sansa stared at him incredulously. "Where?" "You asked for shelter, did you not?" the Hound's gaze seared into her. Sansa thought he still looked hungry. "Yes, but…you aren't going to eat me?" she asked meekly. The Hound snorted and rolled his eyes. "No, of course not. I don't eat children. Is that what they are saying now?" He shook his big shaggy head. "Figures they wouldn't tell the real story. Come along, girl. Or do you want to stay here and freeze? Maybe another animal will find you and decide to sink its teeth into you." At that remark, Sansa stood up hastily, hugging herself and stepped towards the dog shyly. Even though she was now on her feet, the dog was still massive; his shoulder was level her own!

"That's the way." The dog eyed her up and down, then slowly walked around her, like he was inspecting her for something. Sansa cringed, feeling very small. "You're like a lost little bird, fallen out of its nest," the dog suddenly breathed into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine that wasn't altogether unpleasant. The dog simply chuckled at her reaction and began to walk forward, Sansa timidly following him.

She followed him through the dark, deeper and deeper into the forest, down paths she never would have discovered on her own. He didn't speak to her again, but every once in a while he would glance back at her. Sansa began to wonder if he really wasn't going to eat her. He had mentioned shelter, but what did that mean? Was he leading her to some cave? Sansa felt tears prick her eyes again, a mixture of exhaustion, sadness, and hopelessness.

They came upon a clearing quite suddenly, and Sansa almost ran into the back of the dog. Thick trees surrounded the clearing, and in the middle was a rough log cabin. Smoke poured out of the chimney, and the distant glow of fire peeked through the windows. A collection of firewood was stacked neatly near the door, with an axe at the ready, and a makeshift clothesline was strung from the cabin to a tree, a few articles of clothing hanging from it.

Sansa was puzzled. Whose house was this? Was the Hound friends with some hermit?

The Hound led her up to the front door. "Go on in," he said. Sansa looked at the door then at him, perplexed. "Who lives here?" she asked. "I do," said the Hound, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "But…" Sansa couldn't grasp how a giant dog would live in a cabin. It didn't make sense! What was she missing?

The Hound snorted. "Just go inside. You'll find out later. I was hunting when I found you stumbling around, so I'm going back into the woods. I won't be gone long." Impatient with her hesitance to go inside, he raised a large paw and pushed on the door until it swung open. "Go in," he commanded. Afraid of angering him, Sansa entered the warm cabin, gazing about her with wide eyes.

A cozy fire was burning cheerfully in the hearth, with a collection of pots and hunting paraphernalia scattered around it. A large bear pelt was thrown on the floor as a rug, and a rough-hewn table and two chairs sat in the corner near the hearth. On the other side of the cabin was a large bed, covered with an assortment of thick furs. The place smelled of smoke and pine. Sansa glanced behind her, but the Hound was gone. She shut the door, then walked over to the fireplace and kneeled before it, warming her hands.

When the chill was taken from her bones, Sansa found a pitcher full of clean water and a basin, and she washed her hands and face and neck. She didn't see a comb, so she tried to wrestle with her tangled hair as best she could and ended up throwing it in a loose braid so that it would be wavy later. Then she inspected the shelves and cabinets on the walls. Most of them held knives and arrows and leathers. There was one shelf holding some plates and cups and utensils, and another than held a broken clock. Sansa couldn't understand any of it. What would the Hound want with plates and forks? She didn't see how he would be able to use them. On another shelf she found some well-worn books, which she eagerly explored. One contained some old stories, some of which she had never heard of. One was a book of songs. And the other was in a strange language. She put them back carefully then returned to the fire.

Realizing the Hound might want the basin full of clean water, she took the pitcher and emptied it outside. There was a pump in the yard, and she refilled it, surprised that the pump worked better than the one at the castle.

It was now completely dark outside, and Sansa began to wonder if the Hound was ever coming back. Her stomach grumbled hungrily, and Sansa wondered if there was any food around, but she didn't want to trespass on the Hound's hospitality. He might change his mind and force her back into the forest. She sat on the hearth, knees pulled under her chin, and contemplated what she was going to do with herself, now that she was banished. She would never be able to go back to the castle. Perhaps there was a small village nearby where she would not be recognized, and she could get work as a seamstress. Her septa had always praised her needlework. It was one of the greatest achievements of a lady.

Sansa was suddenly angry. Yes, she was a lady, and knew how to sing and dance and sew, and not much else. She knew nothing useful, like how to find her way out of a forest or build a fire. For the first time, Sansa realized how ill-equipped she really was for anything other than a life of luxury. It was all she had been prepared for, and she bit back the bitter taste of resentment.

The door to the cabin suddenly swung open, and a large man strode inside.

A/N: I pictured the Hound looking like the Grim from the Harry Potter series, only larger...in case anyone was interested :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here's Chapter 2! I haven't decided yet if I will leave it off here or continue it. I've actually fallen in love with this story, so we'll see where the wind takes me. Any who, enjoy!

Chapter 2

The man was tall, much taller than anyone else Sansa had ever seen. He wore a simple brown spun tunic, breeches, and black leather boots. His muscles strained against the tunic, which hung unlaced and open in the front, revealing part of a powerful and well-formed chest.

Sansa's eyes moved up to the man's face, which was partially hidden by a curtain of long black hair. She could barely make out his features in the dim lighting, but he seemed to have burn scars covering the side of his face and reaching his ear, which was also burned. He had a short but scruffy beard, matching the dark hair on his chest.

Shocked at this person's sudden appearance, Sansa stood up uncertainly.

The man was gazing at her, his grey eyes taking her in, and Sansa shivered when she realized the similarity between them and the eyes of the Hound. The man gave her a smirk then strode towards her. Sansa backed away, feeling cornered again.

The man paused, then laughed. "Don't look so startled," he rasped in a low, scraping voice. "I'm not going to hurt you." He held up his hand, dangling the bodies of two skinned rabbits. "I brought dinner. That is, if a proper little lady like you can stand to eat off of a stick." He chuckled again.

Sansa had never felt so bewildered. "I'm sorry…I don't understand…who are you?" she ventured. The man smirked again. Now that he was closer, Sansa could see the scars more clearly, and the way one side of his mouth was twisted upwards from them. "Silly little bird," he rasped. "Who do you think I am? I haven't left you alone _that_ long." He continued towards the fire and crouched down, searing the two rabbits on spikes to be roasted. Sansa felt foolish, but wasn't sure why. He seemed familiar…the voice, the eyes…could it be? No! That was impossible.

She edged forward, trying to get a better look at him. "You're…you're the Hound?" The man rested his forearms on his knees and looked up at her. "Finally caught on, huh?" "But…but how? The Hound is a dog, and you're a…a man!"

The Hound regarded her lazily. "Should have known you'd have this reaction." He sighed. "I'm a shape-shifter, girl. I can transform into the dog you saw earlier." He stood and went to the basin. "Oh," Sansa answered. Her head felt dizzy. "So you're magic?" The man snorted. "Something like that. It's more of a curse really. Though it does have some perks. I can scare pretty girls like you." He gave her a wink, and Sansa blushed. Such brazen behavior! He was definitely not civilized enough to know how to treat a lady.

However, curiosity won over her embarrassment. "But there are legends about you. How can that be? You're not…old." Though the man obviously surpassed her youth, he didn't seem to be over thirty. Though it was hard to tell with his scruffy appearance and the scars.

The Hound ran his fingers through his hair in a ragged motion, then sat down on the floor so he could tend to the rabbit meat that was roasting, filling the cabin with a pleasant aroma. "Being a shape-shifter means I don't age like the normal human, girl. There are legends about me because I'm hundreds of years old." Sansa gasped, covering her mouth. "Really?" He nodded, as if this was obvious information that everyone should know about.

Letting this knowledge sink in, Sansa decided to come closer and she sat again by the hearth, hoping he still wouldn't hurt her. It was strange to think that this man was also some hulking beast that lurked in the woods, yet, gazing at his profile, it was becoming easier and easier to believe. Not knowing what to do, she folded her hands and waited to see what would happen next.

The Hound glanced at her as he turned the meat. His eyes roamed over her and lingered at her chest. Sansa felt her face burn red. Her dress was cut modestly, but after running through the forest, it had become torn and draped across her chest a little lower than usual. She pulled her knees up to her chin again, hoping to cut off his scrutiny. At her movements, he only laughed, a low, a husky sound.

The meat was done, and the Hound fetched two plates, almost tossing one at her. He handed over one of the rabbits, and she took it gingerly. She was starving, but all the lady-like manners she had been taught took hold, and she tried to eat the meat as daintily as she could.

The Hound laughed at her attempts. "What a proper little lady you are," he growled. "You don't have to hold back around me, little bird. You must be hungry." He tore at his own meat with ease. Sansa hesitated, then proceeded to eat a little more ravenously. She burnt her fingers and tongue, but the meat was so good! She was sure she had never eaten finer when living at the castle.

She ate until there were only bones left, which she stacked into a neat pile on her plate and set it on the floor. Her hands were greasy, but there didn't seem to be a napkin in sight, so she wiped them on her dress reluctantly. It was practically rags anyways. The Hound sat on the floor, picking his teeth with a sharp bone. Watching him, Sansa suddenly saw how very like a dog he was, chewing a bone, and she stifled a giggle.

He looked at her, eyes narrowed, and she quickly formed an innocent expression. He flicked the bone into the fire, then turned towards her. "Now, little bird, tell me more about this jealous Queen." Hands folded once more, Sansa obediently told her tale.

"My father and I came here as a favor to the old king. He was having trouble ruling, and he wanted my father at his side, and a marriage between his son, Joffrey, and I." She took a deep breath. "The king died in a hunting accident, and Joffrey was crowned. He was…so cruel to me. He ordered some of the knights to beat me whne he was upset. I didn't want to marry him, but our betrothal was still intact." Next came the hardest part, and Sansa willed herself not to cry. "Shortly after…my father was accused of planning the king's death, and…Joffrey chopped off his head." She wrung her hands in her skirt, but now that the words were coming out, she couldn't stop. "Queen Cersei decided that I was not fit to marry her son any longer, and they made me a servant in the castle. That was a few weeks ago. Then…today happened."

Sansa glanced at the Hound, and he was studying her closely. "I had heard about the king and your father dying," he said slowly. "Hmmm…so the Queen made you a servant, did she?" Sansa nodded. "Yes. She…was always saying I was too pretty. She made me wear old dresses like this one and tie my hair back. I had to scrub floors." Sansa winced as she looked at her once flawless hands, now calloused from the rough wooden brushes and carrying buckets of water. The Hound scoffed. "You could wear a potato sack, girl, and you would still be pretty." Sansa didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing, and only glanced at him from under her eyelashes. "And so she tried to kill you because you were a better looker than she…how like a woman," he snorted. Reaching onto a shelf nearby, he picked up a wineskin and drank from it.

Seeing that Sansa was watching him, he thrust the skin at her. "Wine?" "Oh...well…" not wanting to offend him, she took the skin and drank some. It was sharp and red, and she coughed. He chuckled and took it back from her. "Not to your taste, girl? I suppose you're used to more refined drink." He took another swig, and Sansa frowned. Why did he always have to make rude comments? She hoped he wouldn't get drunk.

Sansa suddenly became very aware of the fact that they were the only two people for miles. She was all alone with this strange man that could turn into a giant dog at will, and she would be helpless to stop him if he tried to force anything on her. The thought made her heart race. _Stop it_, she scolded herself. _He's been…kind, so far. He could have left you in the woods_. Surely a man, even a rough one such as the Hound, wouldn't hurt her after giving her food and drink. She was under no obligation to him, yet he had taken her in. Sansa felt a strange sort of thankfulness towards this strange man, and she decided now was the time to voice so.

"I…I thank you, Ser," she began shyly. "You've been very generous, allowing me to stay here. It's good of you." The Hound gave her look of incredulity, then he guffawed loudly, making her jump. "You don't have to chirp pretty courtesies at me, little bird. I've got my reasons for taking you in." Sansa stared at him uncertainly. "What do you mean?" Did he really have lascivious thoughts after all? The Hound eyed her, and Sansa felt as if she was the prey, and he the predator.

She wondered if she could make a run for the door. He was closer, but if she caught him off guard, she might be able to run outside before he caught her. Then what? She would be stuck out in the woods all over again, and he would no doubt find her, knowing the area as well as he did. Once again she was trapped.

Never tearing his eyes from her face, the Hound stood up and moved closer, towering over her. Sansa watched him fearfully, cowering under his intense presence. He had said earlier he wasn't going to hurt her, but Sansa had been lied to so much recently that trust didn't come as easily as it once had.

He reached down and pulled her to her feet, not ungently. His large hands rested on her arms and he pulled her closer. Sansa craned her neck to see his face, awed by how tall he was. He was huge everywhere; he could probably snap her arm in half with one hand. Squirming under his gaze, she lowered her eyes. The look on his face frightened her. It wasn't one of anger or maliciousness, but there was a hunger stirring in his dark eyes, and now that he was practically holding her in his arms, Sansa felt smothered under his heated gaze.

"Afraid to look at me, girl?" he rasped. "I suppose I am an ugly bugger compared to all those prissy knights you ladies always swoon over." Sansa cringed. "I'm not afraid," she whispered, and she lifted her head again, forcing herself to look at him. The scarred side of his face was hidden in shadow, while the firelight reflected the untouched side. His eyes had darkened even more till they were almost black, consuming her and swallowing her whole. A strange sensation was unfurling within her, and Sansa trembled slightly, very aware of how close their bodies were.

Hoping to change the situation, Sansa tried again at conversation. "I don't have to stay here…I don't want to intrude." Her voice felt small, and she cleared her throat. "And where would you go?" the Hound asked, running his hands up her arms to her shoulders. "I…I don't know. Perhaps a village nearby? There must be somewhere I can go." Now that her plan was voiced, she realized how futile it sounded. But what choice did she have?

"I would forget about that, little bird," the Hound answered. "The Queen knows by now that you are still alive. She'll be tearing the kingdom apart looking for you. There'll be a price on your head. The minute you step foot into a village, you best believe you'll have a one-way trip back to the castle. That is, if you aren't raped and killed first." Tears threatened to build in her eyes, and Sansa's shoulders slumped. "Then what I am to do?" she sniffed. "Where am I to go? I don't have anyone."

"Isn't it obvious?" the Hound lifted one large hand and traced her cheek with his finger. "You'll stay here with me." Sansa blinked at him, trying to grasp what he said. "With you?" she squeaked. The Hound grinned wickedly and tipped her chin up. "That's right, little bird. With me. After all…" he trailed off, seeming to talk to himself more than to her. "I found you, didn't I? A lost little bird. Yes…I'll keep you. Why not?"

Sansa simply gaped at him as he ran a hand through her hair and held a lock of it up, watching it catch the light of the fire.

"But…but…" she sputtered. The Hound turned his attention back to her. "But what, little bird? You're good as dead out there. With me…you can live." He cupped her face in his hands, drawing her closer and bending down so they were eye-level. "The Queen will never find this place. No one without magic can find it unless I want them to." He caressed her cheek with his thumb. "I'll keep you safe. No one would ever hurt you again, or I'd kill them." His promise reverberated through her ears, and Sansa stood transfixed. Somehow, this man was breaking down every one of her walls and boundaries, and chipping away at her resolve.

Maybe it was the fact that she was in the presence of a being touched by magic, maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was an accumulation of all the pain and sorrow she had endured over the past months, but Sansa began to feel herself give way to the idea of being sheltered by the Hound. He seemed to genuinely want her to stay…perhaps he was lonely? She suddenly felt some pity for him. How many years had he gone without being in fellowship with another person? She doubted anyone else knew of his ability to transform. He probably _had_ to stay hidden away in the woods. And now here she was, just as alone and friendless as he…

Carefully, Sansa reached up and cupped his ruined cheek with her hand. He seemed startled by the contact, but he didn't move away. He searched her face longingly, and a voice whispered to Sansa that he would probably force her to stay even if she tried to leave, but she shoved the thought away. Instead, she offered him a soft smile. "I'll stay."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Ok, I know I posted a new chapter earlier, but I just really love this story and it's stuck in my head and it's letting me put off homework. Ta-da!

Chapter 3

Morning light shone through the little paned window, casting a long yellow finger over Sansa's eyelids. Awakened from the brightness, she turned her face away, trying to bury deeper into the softness surrounding her and shut out the sun. Her hazy brain began to lull back asleep when she recollected where she was.

Slowly she opened her eyes to find herself facing a wall of the cabin. She felt deliciously snug and cozy, and, moving her hand, realized that she was in a nest of comfortable furs. She blinked, trying to regain consciousness. She was in a bed…a bed…the Hound's bed!

With a start, she sat up and looked around. The expanse of the bed was empty save for her, as well as the rest of the cabin, but that didn't stop the blush from creeping over her. She had shared the Hound's bed. Well, not in that way, but they had still slept next to one another. Her blush deepened as she remembered the…discussion they had had the night before.

_"You're falling asleep, little bird," the Hound said, running a hand down her arm again. He nodded at the bed. "Get some rest." Sansa glanced at the bed then back him. "But where will you sleep?" she asked bashfully. It was kind of him to offer, but she didn't want to put him out of his own home. The Hound gave her strange look, then a wicked grin spread over his face. "In the bed of course. It's big enough, and you don't take up much room, do you, little bird?" _

_ Sansa gasped. "That isn't proper! I mean…" she tried to come up with a way to make him understand without offending him. "I don't know you…" The Hound chuckled. "So if you did know me, it would be alright to share your bed, is that the way of it?" "No! It's just…" she took a deep breath. "It just isn't proper. Ladies aren't supposed to share a bed with a man unless he is her husband." The Hound looked like he was going to laugh again. "Well, you aren't in court now, little bird. Relax, we will just be sleeping." He winked at her again and gave a wolfish grin. "As much as…other activity might be interesting, I won't force you into anything. Besides, it's impractical for us _not_ to share a bed. Winter is coming, and warmth is important. So stop your worried chirping about propriety." Sansa felt too tired to argue with him anymore, and the large bed did look warm and inviting with the soft furs piled high. _

_ She re-braided her hair, and smoothed her dress, wishing she had something else to wear. All her gowns had been packed away in a trunk back at the castle, but even as a servant she had had a nightgown. _

_ The Hound suddenly thrust a tunic at her. "Here, girl, something to sleep in." She took it timidly and held it up. It was one of his shirts. She blushed. Now she was sharing his clothing? Her septa would die of heart failure. "Thank you," she whispered, remembering her manners. He grunted. "It's better than those rags you're wearing now." He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her to a little area that was closed off by a curtain, creating a makeshift bathing room with a chamber pot. "Go on and change, like a good girl." At her hesitance, he smirked. "Don't worry, I won't peek." Blushing furiously, Sansa grabbed the edge of the curtain and pulled it shut in his face. She heard him laugh and walk back to the hearth._

_ She peeled off her ragged dress, relieved to be free of it. Turning around, she found another basin filled with water, so she took the opportunity to wash herself more, then she slipped the tunic over her head, leaving her smallclothes on. The tunic was big on her, falling to mid-thigh, which was much shorter than anything Sansa was used to, but it was clean and warm. Deciding to make the best of the situation, she readied herself, and pushed the curtain back._

_ The Hound had taken off his boots and sat in one of the chairs, drinking form the wineskin again. He looked up as she entered the room, and his dark eyes swept over her approvingly. "What should I do with my dress?" she asked. "Just toss it somewhere," came the unfavorable answer. She looked around the room, and decided to hang it neatly on the back of the other chair. She would find a way to wash it tomorrow._

_ There was nothing else to do to keep herself busy, and Sansa began to fret at the way the Hound's eyes followed her everywhere. Perhaps the bed wasn't such a bad idea; she could hide under the furs. Filled with fresh resolve, she turned to him and offered another smile. "Good night." "'Night, little bird," he rasped in return, and took another swig of wine. She walked to the bed and climbed up, crawling far to the other side and burying herself in the furs until only her face peeped out. She expected to stay awake, but surprisingly, sleep came quickly, and she barely noticed when the fire burned dimly and the bed sank down under the Hound's weight. _

With a sigh, Sansa stretched her arms over her head and crawled out of the bed. She went to the little bathing chamber and washed up, then wandered back into the main room. As the Hound was nowhere to be seen, she took the opportunity to go outside.

The forest did not look as dark and foreboding as it had the night before. Sunlight streamed through the trees, giving the clearing a sort of softness, and Sansa heard birds chirping. Smiling, she took in her surroundings, observing details she hadn't seen earlier. This really wasn't so bad of a place, but it was clearly the home of a man: rough and sturdy and harsh, but with not much order. It needed a woman's touch, Sansa decided.

In the yard, she spotted a tin tub near the clothing line, and clapping her hands, she went to retrieve her dirty dress. She almost missed the little plate of bread and butter and an apple that had been set out on the table. Had the Hound left her food? Sansa felt a queer sort of gratitude and affection spread through her, and she realized how much she really owed him. He had, in a way, saved her life, and was going out of his way to do little things for her. She would have to find some way to repay him.

She ate every bite he had left her, then returned outside. She lugged the tub over to the pump and poured water into it. She found a little bar of soap that was almost glued to a stump and she pried it off, sitting down in its place. Lathering up the water, she began washing the dress.

More sunlight had poured into the clearing, bathing her in warmth, and Sansa felt happier than she had in a long time, even though she owned no possessions and had no money. Those things did not seem to matter as much as they once did, and Sansa wondered when she had changed from placing those things at the top of her list of importance. Perhaps having to run for her life had something to do with it.

Feeling cheerful, she began humming a little song from her childhood, and scrubbed the dress until it was sufficiently clean enough for her, and hung it up on the line next to the other clothing. She had nothing to wear until it was dry, but the Hound's tunic wasn't so bad, even though it revealed more of her legs than she would have preferred. At least it wasn't see-through.

Hoping the dress would dry soon, Sansa went back to the cabin and opened all the windows and left the door open, letting the fresh air in. Her hands on her hips, she surveyed the state of the cabin. It wasn't horribly messy, but it wasn't very tidy either. Surely the Hound wouldn't mind if she straightened things up a bit.

Armed with a new task, she hunted through the cabin until she found a broom, stuffed into a corner. She swept and swept, the entire cabin floor and the corners, and even dusted the shelves and cupboards, coughing at the clouds of dirt that stirred up. She arranged the disordered cups and plates, and put the scanty utensils in a drawer. Already the cabin seemed brighter, and Sansa began to feel that living there would be quite nice.

In one cupboard she found a folded up tablecloth, and after shaking it out, she spread it over the table and pushed the chairs in. She plumped up the furs on the bed as well, then went to check on her dress. To her surprise, it was completely dry, and she changed, folding the tunic up and setting it aside.

Sansa decided not to make any other changes to the cabin without asking the Hound first, so she went outside again to wait for him. Where could he have gone? Singing a tune softly, she unbraided her hair and let it fall in waves down to her ribs. The Queen had once threatened to cut her hair short, and Sansa shuddered at the thought of losing her beautiful red locks.

A little family of bunnies had congregated nearby, sniffing curiously, and Sansa rested her hands on her chin, watching them. The warmth and the sweet-smelling forest made her feel drowsy, and she began to doze off until a shadow covered her face. She opened her eyes to see the Hound standing before her, in dog form.

"Oh!" She sat up. He chuckled. "Frightened you again, did I?" There was a bundle on tied around his neck, and he turned and drew it off his shoulder with his sharp teeth, laying it before her. "Here, girl." Sansa picked up the bundle and began to untie the knot, while the Hound walked around her until he was next to her shoulder. Sansa felt surrounded by him.

The knot came free, and she discovered that the bundle was some dresses. They weren't nearly as beautiful as her summer silks, but they were pretty, no matter their plainness. A lump formed in her throat. The Hound had found her clothes, once more going out of his way to help her. "Thank you. This is very kind of you." She traced a pattern of vines on a dark green dress. The Hound grunted. "They're not the dresses of a princess, but they'll keep you warm." "I'm sure they will. They really are lovely, thank you." She turned to smile at him, coming face-to-face with his muzzle. "What shall I call you?" she asked. "I can't just call you Hound." The dog regarded her for a moment. "My human name is Sandor. Sandor Clegane." "Sandor," she repeated softly, and smiled. "That's much better." She stood up, folding the dresses over her arm.

The Hound trotted over to the clothesline and yanked a tunic off with his teeth. "Best go inside little bird, unless you think you're ready to see a grown man naked." Sansa gasped, reddening, and ran into the cabin. The Hound's gruff laughter rang outside, but it gradually changed from deep and guttural to just a normal rasp, like his human voice. Sansa had buried her face in the dresses, however, and wouldn't risk a peek until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun around and Sandor stood before her, grinning wickedly, but wearing clothing. She frowned at him, then realized he was taking notice of the changes in the cabin.

"The little bird's been hard at work I see," he said, eyeing the swept floors and the tablecloth. She paled, wondering if he was upset, but when he grinned at her again she relaxed. His eyes lingered over her hair, and he reached out and ran a hand through her locks, then cupped her chin, pulling her closer to him with his other hand. "I suppose tidying up means you really will stay and make your nest, is that right?" He ran his thumb over her chin as Sansa stood there clutching her dresses. "Yes." She hesitated. "You won't hurt me." It was statement more than a question, but Sansa felt the need to say it out loud. Sandor's grey eyes roamed over her face, lingering on her lips, and back to her own wide, blue orbs. "No little bird, I won't hurt you."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_"Looking-glass upon the wall, who is_

_the fairest of us all?"_

_"Queen, you are full fair, 'tis true, _

_But there is another who is fairer than you._

_Skin white as snow,_

_Lips as red as blood,_

_Hair kissed by fire,_

_Sansa Stark fairer is than you." _

Cersei gripped the armrests of her chair, anger boiling within her. "What do you mean, you lost her?" she asked in a deadly quiet voice. The throne room was empty save for Joffrey and a handful of their knights, including the one who had been responsible for disposing of the Stark girl.

The knight in particular swallowed. "I tried to kill her, your Grace, but she ran into the Dark Forest and I lost her." "Fool," Cersei hissed. "How could you lose a simple-minded little girl?" She rubbed her temples. She was surrounded by incompetent idiots, who couldn't even do one simple task. All the knight had to do was kill the girl and bring back her heart. "Even if I could not find her, your Grace, the Dark Forest is an evil place. She may dead this moment. Plenty of wild animals live in the forest, and a girl like her would be lost in a moment," the knight offered. "That is true," Cersei commented, "But there is no way of knowing if she has survived." There actually was a way, but Cersei was keeping that tidbit to herself.

Joffrey shifted on his throne and pouted. "Mother," he whined. "You said she would be taken care of." "I know, I did, your Grace," Cersei replied, turning to him. "It appears we will have to take other measures." She scowled at the knight. "Your services are no longer required, Ser." Joffrey turned to another knight. "Ser Meryn, show us what happens when one fails to carry out a royal command." "With pleasure, you Grace." Meryn strode forward with his sword drawn. The other knight scrambled to his feet and reached for his own weapon, but the other knights seized him, and his strangled cry reverberated throughout the room as Meryn slashed his head off.

Some servants were summoned to clean the mess, and as they worked, Cersei and Joffrey retreated to the king's solar. "What are you going to do now, Mother?" her son asked, setting his crown aside and taking a seat. She sighed. "I will find the girl, my son, one way or another." "And bring me her heart?" Joffrey asked, playing with a dagger. "Yes. And bring you her heart."

After dismissing herself from her son, Cersei walked to her own solar. Upon reaching it, she fastened the door, then stepped towards one of the walls, where an intricately woven tapestry hung. She pushed it aside and pressed on three stones. The wall turned in on itself, revealing a secret passageway.

Cersei followed the winding staircase, lit by torches, until she reached another room, empty save for a chair, a desk, and a bookshelf filled with dusty tomes. On the wall opposite hung another curtain, and she pulled a rope next to it. The curtain swung open to reveal a very large and ornate mirror. She stood before it, gazing at her reflection.

"Looking-glass upon the wall, who is the fairest of us all?" The mirror filled with a cloud a black, and green flames sprung from it. Out of the flames a face, shaped like a mask, appeared. "Your beauty is great in the land, my Queen," the face in the mirror spoke. "But Sansa Stark still lives, and while she does, she is the fairest in all the land," the mirror continued.

Cersei clenched her hands. "So, she lives. The Dark Forest hasn't killed her yet," she mused. "Can you tell me where she is?" The mirror was silent for a moment. "There is a strong kind of magic protecting her from my view, your Grace. It is very old, and very resilient. It seems she has made an ally of sorts. However, I may able to penetrate the magic in time." "An ally?" Cersei was confused. "What could be living in the Dark Forest that would protect her?" "I cannot say for sure, your Grace, but it is a being touched by a dark form of magic. He has shielded her in his realm, and my eye cannot find her out just yet."

This was unexpected news indeed. Cersei walked slowly to the chair and sat, tapping her fingers on the armrest, trying to sort out her options.

She had always hated the Stark girl. Her husband, the late king, had insisted upon the alliance to Joffrey, but Cersei had gained revulsion for the girl the minute she set eyes on her. It was true, that Sansa was a beauty. Even a blind man would see it. Cersei had always been regarded as the kingdom's most beautiful woman, until this girl had come down from the North. She was sweet and courteous, and everyone at court fell in love with her, and Cersei had to endure hearing whispers about Sansa's beauty, and what a gem she was for the kingdom.

Growing steadily enraged, Cersei convinced Joffrey to strip Sansa of her status after the beheading of her father, and turned her into a servant, as an example of what happened to traitors and their families. However, even in rags the girl was still beautiful, and when the magic mirror finally proclaimed that Sansa had surpassed Cersei in looks, her jealous flame reached its peak, and she resolved to have the girl murdered.

She should have known better than to trust someone else to take care of the girl. Now she was free and still living. Not only was she a thorn in Cersei's side for her beauty, but she represented a threat to the realm as well. If she managed to escape to the North, she could rally her father's banner-men and overturn the new Warden of the North, appointed by Joffrey to take Ned Stark's place, and eventually revolt against her son's kingdom. She bit her nail. There was no choice, the girl must be killed.

A/N: A shorter chapter, but important all the same! The phrases at the beginning are taken directly from the original Grimm's fairytale of Snow White. I just altered them to fit Sansa :)


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sansa lost track of the days she spent living with the Hound. Time seemed to stand still in the little clearing, and all that mattered was the new world that was forming around her.

Simple routines fell into place as the two began to get used to each other. It turned out that Sandor, in his human form, hunted and sold the pelts and some of the meat to villages and towns around the countryside, making coin to live on. He hunted almost everyday, while Sansa continued cleaning the cabin and making it more livable. He grunted about some of the changes, but he didn't seem to mind her little feminine touches her and there, like a bouquet of fresh flowers on the table.

Sandor was still crude and rough around the edges, and like to tease her until she blushed red and hid herself, but he never hurt her or tried anything inappropriate. He seemed to hold a fascination for her hair, often reaching for a lock of it or running his hands through it. He still intimidated her, but she began to feel much safer with him as she grew to know him. In spite of his rude comments, Sandor was more truthful to her than anyone at court had been, and Sansa found it refreshing, if not a little hard to swallow sometimes.

She had wanted to come to the villages with him, but Sandor told her no. "You'll be too easily recognized, little bird. The Queen has her spies everywhere. I've seen them." Sansa was crestfallen, but she knew it was for the best that she stay hidden. To make up for her not being able to accompany him to the towns, Sandor started bringing her back more little gifts. Sometimes it was dress or some ribbons. Once he brought her comb, and she almost cried. That night she ran it through her tangled tresses, relieved to have her hair smooth once more.

Sansa wasn't sure exactly what her relationship with Sandor was. Some days she wondered if he would try to stop her, or come after her, if she wanted to leave. She had thought about trying to go North, but the possibility of being caught by the Queen was enough to keep her from spending much time on that plan. Joffrey's soldiers overran the North anyways.

They still shared the bed, and as the nights began to grow colder, Sansa found herself seeking out the Hound's warmth in addition to the furs. One morning she awoke only to realize that her back was flush against his stomach. Blushing furiously, she moved away, hoping he wouldn't notice and wake up, but upon glancing at his face, his eyes were open and watching her, and he gave her a devilish smirk. "No need to be embarrassed, little bird," he snickered, tilting her chin towards him. Sansa rolled over and buried her face in the furs in response, as the bed shook with his laughter.

The Hound warned her not to wander to far from the cabin when he was gone. The closer she was to the clearing, the more protected she would be, he said. Sansa wasn't exactly sure what he meant. Maybe it was just a way of convincing her to stay with him. Sandor seemed very possessive of her. Sansa wasn't sure if she was his captive; perhaps she was. But he seemed to not want to hold her against her will, but at the same time, he was adamant about her staying with him. Maybe he wanted her to _want _to be his captive.

Even when he wasn't there, she felt like his eyes were always watching her. It was comforting and unnerving, and it puzzled her.

One clear day Sandor took her to a meadow that was nearby so she could pick flowers to her heart's content. It warmed her to think that he did these things to make her happy, even though most of the time he just grumbled or said something crude. She had a feeling that he really wanted her to like him, but just didn't know how to show it. The thought made her feel a little strange, and Sansa tried not to think about it too much.

As she picked flowers, Sandor, who was in his dog form, lay in the grass, head up and ears alert as he scanned the surrounding woods. Humming, Sansa carried an armful of flowers with her and sat down next to him. The Hound shifted slightly so that his side brushed against her back. Sansa had never touched him in this form, and she wondered what the black fur would feel like. Sandor always tried to find reasons to touch her, whether it be her hair or her arm, or running a finger down her cheek.

After twisting some of the flowers into a crown, Sansa turned to look at him, her shoulder brushing his side. The Hound's grey eyes glanced at her. "What is it, girl?" asked his throaty voice. "Nothing," she said innocently, then she reached out her hand and stroked her fingers through the thick fur on his shoulder. Immediately the grey eyes slid close, and he leaned his shoulder into her touch. Encouraged, Sansa continued running her fingers through more of the fur, marveling at how the ends were course, then grew fine and soft near the skin.

Something tapped her leg, and she turned to see that his tail was wagging. Giggling, she pet him some more. "What does it feel like?" she asked him. "It feels…very nice, little bird." The grey eyes opened, and the Hound tilted his head to look at her. "It's relaxing." She smiled at him, and the corner of is wolfish mouth turned up.

She continued to pet him for a while longer, the movement relaxing her as well. The smell of the flowers and the meadow, mixed with the Hound's own unique scent, caused her to feel drowsy, and she eventually leaned against his side and rested her head on is shoulder. Sandor turned to look at her but said nothing as her eyes slid shut.

He woke her soon after, nuzzling her hair with his nose. She stared at him sleepily. "Wake up, little bird," he growled softly. Sansa stretched, then leaned against him again, shutting her eyes. "No. It's so nice." He nudged her again. "Little bird, I'm warning you." Stifling a smile, Sansa pretended not to hear him. Something rough and wet collided with her cheek, and ran the entire length of her face up to her forehead. Sansa gasped and sat up in alarm. The Hound roared with laughter. "What was that?" she exclaimed, touching her damp face with her fingers.

The Hound leaned in close to her. "I was right. You do taste good, little bird." Then he licked his jaws. Sansa realized with a start that the wet thing had been his tongue. "That's…that's…why did you….you didn't have to lick me!" she cried. He only laughed at her again, then stood up and shook himself. "Come along, girl, it's time to go back to the cabin." He took her sleeve in his mouth and pulled her to her feet.

Sansa was still groggy from her nap. "Can I ride you?" she asked, smothering a yawn. The Hound swiveled to stare at her oddly. "What?" she asked. He threw back his head and howled, making her jump. "You can ride me any time you want, little bird," he laughed, and one large grey eye winked at her. Sansa stared at him stupidly. "I don't understand what's so funny," she grumbled. "You always laugh at everything I say." With a huff, she began walking a way. Sandor caught up to her easily, still chuckling. "Didn't your septa teach you anything, girl?" he asked. Sansa was still lost. "What does that have to do with me riding you?" The Hound sounded like he was choking. "I guess she didn't." "What are you talking about?" Sansa asked. "Just think about how you worded that question, girl." They waked in silence for a moment. "I don't know," she muttered finally. "And if you aren't going to tell me, can I at least ride on your back? I'm tired." The Hound chuckled again but stopped. "Climb on." Taking handfuls of his fur, Sansa clambered onto his back, sitting just behind his shoulders, and he started walking again, shaking his head.

"Little bird, didn't your septa tell you about the things that happen between a man and woman?" Sansa almost fell off. "What? How could you ask that?" Sandor sighed. "You're more innocent and naïve than I thought." Then he explained what her question could have meant.

Sansa gasped in surprise and lost her balance, falling onto the ground, as the Hound's roaring laughter filled the woods.

A/N: Another shorter chapter, but things are gonna get juicy soon :)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Magic had never been a subject that was integrated into Sansa's lessons, but it was something she had dreamed about occasionally and she believed in its existence. The storybooks she read in her father's library contained fairytales and songs about princesses and maidens held captive by an evil witch or wizard, only to be set free by handsome prince. Sansa had once thought would be awfully romantic if such a thing were to happen to her, but her experience had proved to be quite different. She had been made a prisoner by a prince and a queen, both of whom were supposed to be the heroes and saviors in the stories, and she was saved by the Hound instead, who, by normal accounts, should have been the villain.

Sandor had told her before that he wasn't a good person, that he had done a lot of bad things throughout his life. He was moody and dark, and seemed to take pleasure in the violence of hunting. But Sansa had never seen him do anything particularly evil. She liked to think that maybe her presence in his life was making a difference. That she was "taming" the wild Hound.

Living with Sandor had taught her more about magic, in some ways. Sandor rotated between his dog and human forms fairly evenly, but he seemed to prefer the dog form in the mornings and at night. At first Sansa thought it was just coincidence, but she began to notice a pattern in his transformations.

One night, when she had gone to bed, Sandor left the cabin. She crawled out of bed and went to the window by the door. He was a dark shape in the twilight, walking around the perimeter of the clearing. She watched him until he disappeared from view, then she went to look out the window over the bed. He would walk, stop and sniff occasionally, then continue walking. Sansa was puzzled as this routine continued every night before he would come back to the cabin and climb into the bed beside her. In the mornings she suspected he repeated the movements, for he was usually gone when she woke up, but always returned shortly after she began moving about the cabin.

Sometimes after he was done patrolling the clearing he would just sit in the yard in front of the cabin, and stare off into the woods. Sansa wondered how much of animal instinct and rationale took over in these moments. As a dog, he would still converse with her normally, but many of the things he did were much more…primal, than when he was human. And even then, he maintained some canine characteristics. He often growled when he spoke, and once he even snapped at her when she had held up a pair of scissors and suggested that she cut his hair. His teeth were always very white and sharp, and he liked to smell her hair.

Sandor continued to be very protective and aware of her movements and whereabouts, especially since he had started extending his nightly patrols. He began to hunt and travel to the villages less often, and stayed at the cabin or wandered the woods nearby, drinking heavily from his wineskins. Sansa could see that something was bothering him; he was always very alert and on edge. But she didn't know what it could be, or how to ask him.

The night Sansa learned more about magic was not a moment of thrilling discovery or wonderment, but it was important all the same. The night had begun like any other: Sansa changed into one of Sandor's tunics (he had yet to bring her back a proper nightgown, and Sansa had decided not to ask him for one) and said good night, crawling to her side of the bed. Sandor waited till the fired died down to a soft glow that still warmed the cabin, blew out the candles, then slipped outside where he changed into the Hound.

Sansa had slipped into a deepening sleep when she was awakened by a dog's barking. At first she couldn't understand it, but she quickly realized the dog must be Sandor. Scrambling out of bed, Sansa hurried to the window and looked out. The moon was bright and shining through the trees, giving light to the clearing. In the middle of the yard was the Hound, facing the forest with a defensive stance. His black fur was bristled and his ears were flat against his head. Through cabin door Sansa could hear him snarling, and the sound made the hairs on her arm stand on end.

As she watched, he slinked forward a few steps towards the trees. Sansa could not see what he was so upset about; the forest looked normal to her. The Hound snarled again, then gave several short barks. His ears perked up, listening, and he froze in place, staring into the dark woods intently. For a moment she thought she heard him talking, but she couldn't make out the words, and decided he was just growling.

After a few minutes, he turned around and trotted towards the cabin door, stopping before it to look back at the trees. Sansa was beginning to feel nervous, so she unlatched the door and opened it. "Sandor," she whispered. "What is it?" The Hound's large head swiveled to her appearance, and he moved forward, pushing her inside and following her in without transforming back into a human. He shut the door with his paw and latched it again with his teeth.

Sansa stood before him, running her hands up and down her arms in an effort to ease the goose bumps. Sandor's fur was still bristled and his grey eyes had turned to black coals, the firelight glistening in them. The cabin was a decent size, but the Hound was so large that the space felt instantly cramped. Sansa sat on the edge of the bed while he walked to a bowl of water and lapped from it. He hadn't said anything, and it was making Sansa uneasy.

"Sandor," she whispered again. "What's wrong? What did you see?" The Hound finally turned his attention to her, and came back to sit between her and the door. "Something was trying to get in," he spoke in his usual gruff rasp. Sansa frowned. "Like what? I didn't see anything outside." "It's not something visible, exactly." He sighed. "It's magic, little bird. I can feel it." "Oh…" she was still confused, but at least she was completely lost. "So something…magical is trying to get into the cabin?" Sandor stood for a moment to shake out his fur, the course ruffled as he sat back down again. "Remember when I told you that no one without magic could get into the clearing?" She nodded. "Well, the clearing has a magic boundary around it, that I have put in place since I've lived here. It's part of my being; as a shape-shifter, and a dog at that, I have a particular connection to my land. " "Really? How did you do that?" Sansa asked, intrigued. The Hound snickered. "You've seen dogs mark their territories before, right, girl?" Sansa nodded, then blushed. "Oh." He gave her a lopsided grin. "I don't piss on the trees, if that's what is reddening your pretty cheeks. It's a bit hard to explain, but I make a mental connection with my surroundings. The area I want becomes bound to me, and protected from the outside world. And ever since you came along, I strengthened the boundaries. No one ever came this far into the woods before, but now that the Queen is looking for you, I thought extra precautions might be a good idea. Turns out I was right." He glowered at the door at some unseen enemy.

"You think the Queen is using magic to try to find me?" Sansa was really worried now. The Hound nodded. "I believe she is. I've heard stories about this Queen for a long time: she has been able to find people without providing exactly how she knows where they are. I don't think she has any magic, herself, but someone or something with magic is aiding her." Sansa swallowed. "But, you have the boundaries up. "It" cannot find us, right?" "I've known something was sniffing around for a while, which is why I have been circling the clearing at night and in the morning. Whatever it is, it is very old, but strong magic, and it is curious about this clearing. Until tonight, though, it has never tried to get in."

Sansa mulled over this for a moment. "Can it see us?" "It can't see you, and it's barely see into the clearing. It knows there is a boundary preventing it from reaching further. Picture a windowpane when the rain is beating hard against it. You can still see outside, but it very blurry, and you can't make out definite shapes. Does that make sense?" "Yes." "Well, that's all this damn thing can see. And it knows I'm there." Here he gave a dark growl. "Especially after tonight. I don't think it was expecting me." He gave her a very hard look. "But it knows you're here, little bird, though it doesn't precisely know where _here_ is." Sansa gasped. "But how do you know?" "It spoke to me," Sandor told her. "Asked where you were. That's how I knew the bloody thing was from the Queen." "What did you say?" Sansa asked, breathlessly. "I told it to go to hell," the Hound answered simply and rose to his feet. "Now, go back to bed, little bird. You'll be alright. I'm keeping watch." Reluctantly, Sansa crawled back into the bed and was nestling under the furs again when the Hound jumped onto the bed and lay down. She stared at him in surprise as he nudged the furs around his body to get comfortable. He was so large he took up much more of the bed than he did as a human.

Sansa watched him glance at the door again, then lay his head down on his front legs. Despite the warmth of the furs, Sansa felt chilled from what she had just heard. The Queen was looking for her, still out for blood. A cold hand gripped her heart and the same fear she had felt when the knight took his knife out to stab her came rushing to the front of her mind, and she scooted over to Sandor's body. She didn't know what she was seeking, but she felt better with him so close.

The Hound opened his eyes as she shifted over and looked at him shyly. "Afraid, little bird?" he rumbled. She nodded, a lump forming in her throat. The Hound moved to lay on his side more, and she curled up against his ribs and stomach, feeling comforted as she breathed in his scent and felt his warm fur surrounding her. Running her fingers through the hair, she wondered what other magical abilities the Hound had that he never disclosed to her.

She felt hot breath on her forehead, and Sandor nuzzled her hair and neck with his nose. "Sleep, little bird," he said in a deep growl. A wave of exhaustion hit her instantly, filling her brain with a pleasant, fuzzy feeling and a sense of calm spread throughout her body. As Sansa's eyes drooped shut, the last thing she heard was the Hound again murmuring, "Sleep." Then she was lost to the world.

* * *

Sandor had lived his life in solitude, never desiring much human companionship. He had been an outcast since he was a child, and after he began to shape-shift, he spent even more time alone and isolated. The burn scars on his face, provided by his brother, Gregor, had made him an ill-tempered child, moody and vengeful, which in turn manifested an angry and bitter adult. He created the Hound as an escape, and relished in the fear he could inspire in those who mocked him when he was human.

After two-hundred and fifty years, Sandor had established himself as a legend of the Dark Forest, and not many humans dared to set foot in it, which was fine by him, and he lived and hunted for a hundred more years, careful to stay out of sight for a certain amount of time so that people didn't suspect his unnatural long life. His scars and bitter countenance were fearsome things, combined with his height and strength, and people steered clear of him unless he was selling pelts and meat. He would supply himself with plenty of wine and drink himself into stupors, when he would occasionally stumble into some brothel and terrify the daylights out of the whores until he showed them his coin.

Then one night as he was hunting, a wonderful, sweet scent crossed his path, and he followed it, curious. That's when he found the little bird: trembling, crying, and shaking as she ran from the bats. He couldn't resist frightening her a little more. A healthy dose of fear was needed in everyone's lives at some point, and he took some pleasure in watching her beautiful eyes stare up at him in awe and bewilderment as she huddled at the base of the tree. He had leaned in and inhaled her smell, a mixture of lemon and flowers, and he knew he wasn't letting her out of his sight anytime soon.

When he found out who she was, and that she was alone with nowhere to go, he couldn't believe his good luck. He gave her no choice but to trust him, and he led her away to his cabin, where he planned to keep her forever. In just a short few moments, the girl had wriggled her way under his skin, and he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything else in the whole damn world.

She was the most beautiful creature he had ever set eyes. Skin as white as snow, with a sprinkling of light freckles over her dainty nose. Her lips were red and delicious-looking, and her hair…her hair was fire. And the only fire he would ever want to be near willingly. Everything about her was soft and pretty and delicate, things that normally would have disgusted him, but combined with Sansa, they became everything he was attracted to. He enjoyed her innocence and naivety, although it could be a little frustrating at times. He liked to tease her and watch her pretty face turn pink as he made some crude joke. She was an unexpected addition in his life, but he relished her intrusion. Her willingness to stay with him created a surge of satisfaction, and it flamed the heat of his desire to possess her.

Never one to openly show his feelings, unless they were ones of hatred, Sandor kept himself from overwhelming the girl. He wanted her to care for him, to accept him as her sole protector and the only person in the world that could keep her safe and fulfilled. So he did his best to gain her attentions, the most daunting task he had ever undertaken. He had never tried to gain a girl's affections before, but luckily, Sansa seemed easy to please. The smallest things made her smile cheerfully at him, and she was almost sickeningly grateful for everything. But if she was happy, Sandor knew he was doing something right. Though he still had a hard time accepting that she could ever care for him, big, scarred brute that he was. He was not pleasing to look at, yet after a few days the girl didn't seem to notice his scars. She looked at him fully in the face when they spoke, and she grew more comfortable in his presence. Sleeping in the same bed still scandalized her, but there's was no way in hell Sandor was going to give up waking to the sight of her bright red hair splayed out everywhere and the gentle rise of her chest as she slept peacefully. He quite liked her wearing his tunics to sleep in as well, giving him a good look at her gentle curves.

Just as they were falling into a routine with one another, a presence made itself known. Sandor had just been sniffing around the clearing when he felt it, and he immediately investigated every night and morning to see if it returned. And it did, each time growing more and more curious. He had not encountered other magic in a long time, but he knew how to recognize it, to sniff it out. And this was no exception. Sandor expected that, whatever it was, it would soon move on, but as it grew more determined to creep into the clearing, Sandor became convinced that it was sent by the Queen, searching for Sansa. And he was going to have none of that. This magic was old and dark, and invisible force, but his was stronger and more intimidating.

The night it made a full attack on his boundaries, Sandor had almost turned back to the cabin when he felt the familiar alert crawl up his spine and fill his senses, and he immediately set up a defense, fighting against this new magic, adding the power of his being to the aid of the shield covering the clearing. When it retreated, he switched to offense, and commanded the confrontation.

"You are a dark magic, such as I have not encountered before," he growled as it hung uneasily in the trees. "But I am the terror here. Do not cross me." The invisible force answered him in a smooth and silky voice. "Apologies, Hound. You are indeed as strong as you say, and I know you rule these parts. However, I am searching for someone, a young girl, who has vanished into these woods. Have you seen her?" Sandor snorted. "Why the hell would I tell you anything? Who are you?" "Me? I am just a humble servant of her Majesty," said the voice. "She is the one who seeks the girl. And…" the voice had a humorous tone to it. "I think you know where she is. Her trail stops here, and I cannot see her, but she is close. Your magic is good, Hound, but I will find a weakness in it, sooner or later. You would be better off to hand her over to the Queen." Sandor had never felt so angry since the last time he had laid eyes on his brother. A ripple of fresh hatred spread through him, making his blood boil, and he welcomed it. "Bugger that, and bugger you," he snarled. "The girl belongs to me. I found her; she is mine. Leave her to me." He let the energy of his anger fuel the magic surrounding him, pushing against the intruding magic. "You can tell your Queen to bugger off, too. Surely her thirst for blood will be sated once she knows the girl is in the clutches of the Hound." Sandor hated lying; he preferred to tell things as they were, give the straight facts. But for Sansa…he would lie, kill…do anything to keep her safe.

The voice was silent for a few moments. "I will let her Majesty know of this," it spoke at last. "Until we meet again, Hound." Sandor gave short, devilish snarl. "I wouldn't bother. I doubt the girl will last much longer with me anyways. I grow bored of playing with her." He growled, stalking forward. "Now go to hell." The voice didn't speak, and soon Sandor felt the presence of the magic disappear completely. He waited for a while, then returned to the cabin to find Sansa waiting for him, shivering in his tunic.

He knew she had watched him patrolling before, and no doubt his barking had awakened her. He shared his knowledge with her leaving out choice parts of the conversation. Sandor hadn't lied to her, not really: all she really needed to know was that the Queen had not relented in her search, and was now utilizing magic to aid her. There was no point in divulging every detail. Besides, he didn't want her to know how truly obsessed with her he was. For some of what he told the magic visitor had been true: Sansa was his now. And he was determined that it stay that way, Queen or no Queen.

He decided to stay in his dog form for the night, but that didn't keep him from at least using the comforts of the bed. And when Sansa snuggled closer to him, her face still white with fear from the what he had told her…Sandor felt like throwing his head back and howling, reveling in her touch and her need to be close to him. But he knew the girl needed to sleep, so instead he used another one of his abilities as a being with magic running through his veins. It was trick he had learned from an old witch that lived on the very edge of a cliff, and she had repaid his help once by teaching it to him. It was a mental incantation to induce drowsiness in another creature. Sandor had, at first thought it to be useless, but there were a few times he had been able to use it successfully and to his advantage. He willed it over Sansa, watching her eyes, which had been wide-awake, blink and drift shut as she curled against his side. She fell asleep peacefully, and Sandor allowed himself to finally relax. The rest of the night passed without incident, yet he wondered how soon the Queen's magic aid would return.

A/N: Weeee! Some insight into Sandor. He's so wondefully dark, and a pretty difficult character for me to write, so I apologize if he seems OC in any way. I've always had the feeling that he would be very possessive of Sansa, so I tried to weave that into his personality. I'm not sure if I'll give more background on his life as of yet; maybe I'll write a spinoff.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Well?" Cersei demanded as the mirror's smoky hue transformed back into a face. "I have made contact with the being who is hiding the girl," the voice spoke. "It is the Hound. A savage beast that rules the Dark Forest." "I have heard of him," Cersei answered, sitting back down. "What interest does he have in the girl?" "He did not say, exactly, but he seems to be holding her captive. He said that your bloodlust should be sated now that the girl is in his control."

Cersei thought for a moment. She knew of the Hound and his reputation as a fearsome killer. Some of the soldiers described him as a hound from hell, an animal that took joy in the hunt and killing those who strayed too far into his forest. It seemed strange that he would take an interest in Sansa…she wondered if he was killing her slowly. Perhaps he would eat her, leaving her bones for the worms.

But the Hound had known that she was after Sansa, and that she wanted to kill her. Had Sansa told him? Why would he care? Perhaps he simply didn't want soldiers intruding on his land, or he had simply found pleasure in torturing the Stark girl. Cersei hoped it was the latter…but still…she couldn't help a nagging suspicion that there was more going on than she knew. And Cersei hated to be in the dark.

"We will do nothing yet," she decided. "Keep an eye on this Hound. Let me know immediately if you spot the girl." The Hound was dangerous, and the mirror wasn't a source of magic that she could use as a weapon against him. She could send soldiers into the Dark Forest, but the Hound would probably kill them all. He knew the inner workings of the woods, and he seemed to have a strange and dark magic within him that allowed a manipulation of his surroundings. She would have to be careful.

"As my Queen commands," the mirror answered.

* * *

Warmth enveloped her, easy and comforting, and Sansa did not want to open her eyes. After being so frightened the night before, all she wanted was to stay curled up in bed and hide. Her brain was hazy from sleep and her eyelids felt heavy. She must have been much more tired than she thought.

Stirring slightly, Sansa decided she should get up, but something was holding her tight to the bed, and her back was pressed against something. The furs covered her completely, and, confused, Sansa lifted her hand and peeked under the blanket to see why she could barely move.

The Hound's arm was curled around her waist, holding her against his chest. Sansa sucked in a breath as her foggy mind tried to comprehend her position. She stared at the muscular arm, covered with scars of various sizes. Sandor's chest was hard but warm against her back, his body heat flowing into hers. Gulping, she shifted again, torn between trying to lift his arm off and risk waking him up, or just lying there and waiting to see what would happen. It wasn't uncomfortable, but Sansa felt nervous and a fluttery feeling was building in her stomach.

At her movements, the Hound suddenly tightened his grip and pulled her closer to him, and she felt him bury his face into her hair and inhaling deeply, his beard scratching her neck. Goosebumps raised on her skin as his breath fanned her ear, and she heard him give an appreciative moan.

"Mmmm…you always smell so good, little bird," he murmured into her ear, nuzzling it with his nose. Sansa swallowed hard, not knowing what to do. "Thank you," she whispered. He chuckled, the sound vibrating from his chest into her back. Then she felt him lick the outer rim of her ear.

She gasped at the contact and would have sat up if his arm hadn't been holding her down. Instead she turned her head to look at him, surprise and an unexpected heat flowing through her. She met his eyes, and was startled to see their usual grey color turned black again. He stared at her hungrily and gave her a wicked grin. Flame heated her cheeks. _He's not even ashamed of such behavior_.

As if he could read her thoughts, Sandor grinned even wider and run a finger under her chin, tilting her face up. His other arm snaked under her back, pulling her close again. "You're a beautiful sight to wake up to, little bird," he crooned, stroking her cheek. Sansa felt like his eyes were devouring her. Her heart was beating so quickly she wondered if he could hear it. The heat pooled through her body as she stared at him, transfixed by his dark gaze. "Hmmm…" His eyes traveled down her face to her neck and the top of her collarbone that was showing over the top of the tunic. Sansa wondered if she imagined him licking his lips.

Sandor suddenly pressed her down into the bed so that he was partially hovering over her. She squeaked in surprise, her hands flying out to clutch at his shoulders. Sandor nuzzled at her ear again, then he pressed his hot mouth to her neck and began to kiss a hot and heavy trail down to her collarbone.

Alarm bells rang in her head, but the feel of his mouth on her skin quickly deafened them. Sansa felt an all-consuming desire to let him continue, and she unconsciously let her head fall back, exposing more of her neck to him. Sandor wasn't hesitant to take advantage of that, nipping and licking her skin, tasting her luxuriously. A soft whimper escaped her mouth as he reached a more tender area of flesh, and she arched her back.

The Hound growled low, sucking on the side of her neck while he ran a hand down her arm and to her waist. She felt his teeth grazing the spot and travel back up to her ear, where he bit gently at her lobe. Then he stopped abruptly, leaning his forehead on hers and breathing heavily. Sansa's eyes had been closed, but she opened them again to look at him. His own were closed now, and he seemed to be having an internal conflict.

Sandor exhaled, then pulled back and looked at her. "Sorry, little bird," he murmured. "It's hard to control myself around you." Sansa could think of nothing to say, but she was surprised he was apologizing. He hadn't really been taking advantage of her…or had he? Sansa felt utterly lost as she had no experience in this area.

With a sigh, the Hound rolled off of her, rubbing his face with his hands. Sansa sat up, watching him, and she noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt. His muscled chest rose with each breath he took, and chiseled abs covered by a trail of dark hair disappeared under the furs. Her mouth felt dry, and with a start she realized that he was…oh gods…

Sandor caught her expression and he started laughing, a deep bellowing sound. "Transformed in my sleep," he snickered. "It was too warm for pants though, what with the furs and you." Sansa's mouth dropped open at his nonchalance. He was naked! She grabbed another fur and threw it him. "Put something on!" she scolded. "How…could you…what if I saw you!" She buried her face in her hands, feeling mortified. She had let him be that close to her when he was naked! And she wearing only a tunic and smallclothes!

The worst part was, a part of her felt excited and curious.

The Hound only barked out another laugh. He started to move out of the bed and Sansa turned away, her face burning. She felt so embarrassed for her actions; he probably thought her wanton. How had all the lessons her septa had taught her flown out the window so quickly?

After a moment she felt him slip his fingers under chin. "Look at me, little bird," he rumbled. She turned her head. He had slipped on a pair of brown leather trousers and laced them, but he was still topless. The soft morning light set off the tan skin of his chest, and his arm was flexed as he leaned on the bed towards her. Sandor studied her face. "Are you afraid of me?" She shook her head. "Do you…dislike me?" he asked, and his jaw clenched. "No," she answered, wondering why he was asking these questions. The Hound seemed satisfied by this, though, and he pulled away and walked to the hearth to stir up the fire.

The rest of the day passed normally. Sansa did some sewing and sat out in the bright sunshine, soaking in the bright rays. Sandor went hunting after a while and brought back a deer, which he cleaned and cut to hang in the smokehouse. He didn't mention their interaction form that morning, but Sansa often felt his eyes on her, watching her, and she couldn't help but steal glances at him as well. The Hound began to ignite strange feelings in her breast, and she felt confused and a little nervous. She had never felt this way around anyone. She had thought she loved Joffrey, once, but she knew now that it was never love. She had simply been infatuated with the idea of marrying a prince and living happily ever after. Real life was different. Real life wasn't a song or a fairytale…

Sansa quickly wiped a tear away before Sandor saw. He would only ask her a million questions. But she couldn't help the onslaught of loneliness from squeezing her heart. Sansa had been so starved for affection and a kind word from anyone since her father had been killed, but now that she was in the presence of someone who seemed to care about her, she was wary of accepting such. What if she got hurt again? What if the Hound decided that he was tired of her and he killed her, or told her leave? Sansa had already risked her heart enough to agree to stay with him, but the longer they lived together, the more she felt in danger of giving him everything. Especially after his attentions that morning…

She jumped as a hand rested on her shoulder. "You're far away, little bird," the Hound rasped. "You've been staring at that clump of weeds for the past twenty minutes." Sansa blushed and shrugged. "I was just thinking," she answered politely, fumbling with her sewing. He sat down on the ground next to her, stretching his legs out. "What about he asked casually. Sansa struggled for a moment, torn between telling him her thoughts or making up some nonsense. "Just…about the weather," she replied lamely. Sandor narrowed his eyes at her. "A dog can smell a lie, girl," he rumbled. "What were you really thinking about?" He brushed aside a lock of her hair. "You have nothing to fear from telling me."

Sansa bit her lip uncertainly. "I…" she set down her sewing and sighed. "I was thinking about us." "Oh?" He grunted. "And?" "Well…we are companions of sorts, are we not?" she asked. His mouth twitched. "Aye, we are." "And, well, I've never spent so much time alone with a man before, and I enjoy your company, and…and…" She blushed furiously, suddenly wishing she could flee. "And?" the Hound prompted, giving her an amused look. She wrung her hands in her lap, wrinkling the dress. "That's all." He was silent, and she wondered if he knew she was lying again. Whatever courage she had mustered to talk to him had evaporated.

After a moment he looked at her again, giving her a side-ways grin. "Nothing wrong with that, little bird. I enjoy your company as well." He reached a large, calloused hand out and stroked her jaw, a softer expression coming into his normally guarded eyes.

A/N: Aren't they adorable? *wipes a tear*


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I meant to do this on the last chapter and I forgot! I wanted to say thank you to everyone who leaves reviews. I try to answer all of them, but for some of you, I can't respond to. But your reviews are still very much appreciated! I'm so glad everyone is enjoying the story.

Here's a shout-out to some of my lovely followers that I haven't been able to answer:

Intothegame

Saansaan

KimG

And also a Guest and an Anon. Thank you all!

Chapter 8

Cersei was growing increasingly annoyed with this new situation. She had been led to believe that the Hound would kill the Stark girl, but the Mirror had yet to bring her any news. Her servant was still unable to fully penetrate the Hound's protective shield over the clearing, but he said he had reason to believe the girl was still alive. And if she was alive, that meant there was always a chance of escape.

"Why would he bother to keep her alive so long?" Cersei raged, pouring herself yet another glass of wine. She drank too much of late, but it was the only way she could cope these days. Her son, the king, was growing increasingly harder to control, and he seemed to have lost interest in her advice or presence in his life. And Sansa was still alive, a constant threat towards the Queen's self-consciousness and depraved esteem.

"I am not certain, your Grace," the looking-glass responded with the usual calm voice. "It is possible…" it trailed off. "What?" she asked, draining the contents of her cup and trying to decide if she could handle another. "You well remember how everyone doted on the Stark girl. She was a picture of youth and beauty, grace and gentle qualities. It is possible that she has somehow used these things to seduce the Hound." The chamber's usual silence was broken by Cersei's harsh laughter as she reached for the flagon of wine. "Her? Seduce the Hound?" She swirled the contents of the flagon before pouring them into the cup. "I thought he was a vicious beast, one born of hellish cruelty and malice." "That is true, your Majesty. However, she is still alive. There are not many other conclusions to be drawn, except that she has, perhaps, goaded the Hound to join her side."

Cersei mulled this over in her wine-fevered mind. It would be just like the little bitch to have made some brutish creature of magic take pity on her. Somehow she had even managed to deceive one of Cersei's best knights, a man who had vowed to obey the throne in all things. Yet he let her go.

_After all_, she thought, _the Starks' sigil is the Direwolf, and wolves are close to dogs. _She scowled, clenching her jaw, and threw the cup on the floor, watching with satisfaction as it bounced away from her, splashing its contents on the stone. "This Hound thinks he can outsmart me?" she hissed. "Me?" She laughed crazily and turned back to the looking-glass, which was silently awaiting her decision.

Cersei slowly sat down in her chair, tapping the armrests with her fingernails. "Well, I'll show him, won't I? You," she addressed the mirror, "may not be able to pass his magic because of your own magic, so I'll send those who can." She smiled, feeling pride at her ingenuity. "I'll send the KingsGuard into the Dark Forest. They are men of certain talents, I'm sure they will be able to hunt down this Hound and slaughter him like a pig." Playing with a lock of her blonde hair, she glanced at the mirror. "What say you?" "An excellent choice, your Grace. The men of the KingsGuard are faithful to you. I'm sure they will not fail." "They better not," she seethed. "And…if they succeed in killing the Hound…what of the girl?"

The Queen deliberated a moment. "They can have her."

* * *

Sandor lounged on his side, watching the little bird as she flitted her and there, collecting flowers. She enjoyed visiting the meadow, and Sandor was willing to comply with her leaving the clearing as long as he was with her. He hadn't sensed the Queen's spy for a few days, until last night. It had only taken a warning bark for it to leave, but Sandor was going to take no chances.

Sansa was singing something, and he perked his ears at her soft voice. It wasn't a song he recognized, but coming from her, it sounded beautiful. A small clump of bushes stirred where she was picking, and a couple of birds fluttered out from it, chirping at her. Laughing, Sansa whistled a tune at them. The birds chirped merrily and settled on the tops of the bush. She giggled and looked over her shoulder at him. Amused, he wagged his tail a few times.

As much as he enjoyed having the opportunity to touch her with his bare hands, there was something wonderfully enticing about being around Sansa when he was the Hound. Perhaps it was because his sense of smell was much sharper, and he could breathe in her sweet scent. Or perhaps it was because she seemed to like petting him. The feel of her small, dainty hands running through his fur was enough to make his blood heat.

Perhaps it was both. Yes, definitely both.

The girl began to make her way back towards him, clutching handfuls of flowers, and Sandor straightened himself eagerly. _Calm down, stupid dog,_ he chided himself. _You're acting like a green boy. _Sansa plopped herself down in the grass next to him and spread the flowers out in her skirt. With a contented smile, she began weaving some of the blossoms together to make a crown again.

After a while, she fidgeted, and leaned her back against his side as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Sandor couldn't help but feel a smug satisfaction from this, and he maneuvered his body closer to her so that she could lean on him more comfortably. _Way to be casual._

He watched her work with the flowers for a few minutes before returning his attention to the forest, listening and smelling. He listened to the everyday sounds of the forest creatures, trying to pick up anything that sounded out of place. There was no protective shield over the meadow, but Sandor doubted the spy would venture towards it.

One could never be too careful though…

He felt something soft brush his ear, and Sandor turned his head to see Sansa giggling behind her hand, watching him. "What?" he asked gruffly. "Nothing," she said, then erupted in giggles again after attempting to stay solemn. Sandor stared at her, puzzled, when something tickled his ear, and he shook his head slightly. A flower fell to the ground.

Sansa bit her lip, glancing at the flower, then back at him. Sandor realized that she had put it behind his ear. "You think you can laugh at me?" he growled. Sansa tried to stop laughing. "I'm sorry…but…you just looked so funny!" She giggled again, covering her mouth with her hand. Sandor smirked inwardly. Suddenly he stood up, and Sansa fell to the ground on her back with a squeal. Quickly, Sandor positioned himself so that he stood over her, a paw on each side of her shoulders, the rest of her body hidden by his huge frame. "You think that's funny?" he rasped, bringing his muzzle close to her little upturned nose. Sansa had stopped laughing and watching him, breathless, surprise and uncertainty written on her face. Sandor growled playfully and wagged his tail so she wouldn't know he was really trying to frighten her.

"So you thought you could make fun of the Hound, did you?" he snarled. Sansa had caught on to his game, and she barely contained a playful expression. "Oh, who's afraid of the big bad Hound?" she answered in a sing-song voice. Sandor threw back his head and roared, making her jump. "I'll have to teach you a lesson, little bird," he growled in her face again, then he bent his head and worried his nose on her stomach, just under her ribs. Sansa squealed, trying to push him away, but he was too strong, and continued tickling her mercilessly. "Sandor! Stop!" She screamed with laughter, her little fists batting at him. He chuckled and nosed at her sides. "That tickles!" Sansa screeched, her face turning red. Sandor joined her laughter, his deep voice mixing with her high lilting one. "That's the point, little bird. You wanted a laugh, so I'm giving you one."

He nudged at her again, sending her into another peal of laughter, then he moved his head back up to her neck. Her scent was surrounding him and his own canine traits were getting the better of him, so he couldn't resist running his tongue up her neck to her cheek, like he had before, wagging his tail. Sansa kept laughing, so he licked her again.

A new scent passed by him, and he quickly halted his attentions on the girl and lifted his head, sniffing the air cautiously. Sobering, he tensed, raising his nose to the air and inhaling.

Underneath, Sansa realized his change and her giggles trailed off. "Sandor?" she asked quietly. "What is it?" Sandor didn't answer, and instead swiveled his head towards the forest, in the direction of the scent. A growl built in his throat, and he let the fur on his shoulders bristle. "Someone's here, little bird." Sansa turned her face towards the ring of trees. "Is it…you-know-who?" she whispered. "No." Sandor moved off to stand protectively in front of her. Sansa sat up to her knees, watching anxiously. Sandor sniffed the air again. "It's men."

Every sense alert, Sandor's eyes roved over the trees. He couldn't be sure, but it smelled like there were at least a handful of men just beyond the meadow. Occasionally other hunters came into the Dark Forest, but never this far in.

"Whatever happens, little bird, do as I say," he rasped. He felt the girl's worry rolling off of her waves, mixing with her sweet smell. He turned his head to bump against her gently, then turned his attention back to the forest.

A glint of steel and armor broke through a space in the trees. Sandor growled low and his ears went back as he gave himself over to the Hound. He crouched slightly, muscles twitching and fur bristling.

Five men slowly emerged from the darkness of the forest. Their armor shined in the light of the sunny meadow, giving off a sharp glare. White cloaks flowed down from their backs, and each man's hand he held a sharp sword. The crest of a crown was imprinted on their breastplates. Together they moved as one, each prepared, yet Sandor could detect the self-assured and pompous swagger in their steps.

"The Kings Guard," Sansa gasped. Sandor measured each of the men carefully, picking out possible targets, searching for their weaknesses. They were encased in armor, but Sandor had lived long enough to know that even steel could not keep a man safe. The men neared, and Sandor snarled warningly.

When the men were a couple of yards away, one in the middle spoke. "You're hard to find, Hound." His voice was low and mocking. Sandor regarded him distastefully. The other soldiers stopped, but this one continued to approach with confidence. "Ser Meryn Trant," Sansa whimpered, frightened. Sandor snapped at him, and he paused. "All we want is the girl, Hound," he said, pointing at Sansa's shaking form. "Give her to us, and we will leave you and your precious forest untouched. Refuse, and…well, I'm sure the Queen would like your pelt to adorn her bedroom floor." Sandor gave a sharp, barking laugh. "You really think that you scare me?" He bared his teeth, completely aware of the reaction his fangs gave his enemies, and rose up to his full height. "You're all knights, and knights are made for killing." He sneered at the leader. "I look forward to sinking my teeth into your flesh and ripping your throats out one by one. You can run if you like, but I'll find you. You threaten the little bird, you threaten me." He let his jaws curve into a fearsome smirk. The knights were glancing at each other uncertainly. Fools, all of them. He hated knights.

"Are you blind, Hound?" Meryn snorted. "You may be big, but there are five of us." Sandor chuckled. His mouth was already watering in anticipation of the fight. "There could be a hundred of you, and I would still cut through you. You're all meat, and I'm the butcher." The lead knight clenched his jaw, and lowered his helm. "So be it. We'll kill you, then we'll have fun with your precious little bird." A blinding rage filled Sandor veins, and he saw red. With a roar, he launched towards the knight.

Meryn swung his sword at Sandor with a shout, but Sandor was quick to dodge. He closed his mouth over the knight's arm and wrenched, his razor-edged teeth snapping through the armor, and heard the satisfying pop of bones breaking. Meryn howled in pain, trying to jerk away. The other knights sprung into action, all four coming at Sandor with their blades. He released Meryn and dodged their attacks as well, snapping and barking at them, always staying between them and Sansa.

One of the knights barreled towards him. Sandor effortlessly maneuvered away from the swinging sword, and latched onto the knight's leg, causing him to fall. He shook his head violently, like a dog with a toy, and the knight screamed as his leg became dislocated. Sandor felt the warm blood seep into his mouth as he crunched down on the bone. But the other knights were upon him, and he narrowly missed getting his paw sliced off.

He danced away, snarling. "Come on!" he roared at the three remaining men. "I'm just getting warmed up." The heat of battle was upon him, and the smell of blood in the air was driving his canine senses crazy. He wanted nothing more than to slaughter these men. They wanted to hurt Sansa. His little bird. She was the one object forefront on Sandor's mind. _No one will ever hurt you again, or I'll kill them._

Feeling exhilarated by the cries of the men he had already handicapped, he glanced at Sansa. She was cowering in the grass, staring with wide-eyes at the scene before her. Likely she had never seen a fight like this. Sandor could smell her fear, but then her eyes shot over to him. For a moment he was worried that her fear would be of him, and his brutal display would have severed the affectionate connection they had been building. Would she fear him now more than ever?

Her frightened face softened slightly as she looked at him, something passing through her eyes, and Sandor realized that she just simply trusted him.

"Get him, you idiots!" Meryn ordered. He had fallen to one knee, cradling his broken arm. The three knights advanced towards Sandor slowly, creating an arch. Sandor growled, pulling his head back into the fight. They meant to circle him, did they? He began moving with them, rotating so that none of them ever managed to step behind him.

* * *

Sansa was shaking as she watched the battle unfold. She knew the Hound was powerful, and strong, but that hadn't stopped her from worrying. She knew these men, knew that they weren't true knights. Not one of them. They had been merciless and cruel to her at the castle, beating her without thought, on Joffrey's command. They had mocked and scorned her when she became a cleaning maid. Goosebumps rose on her arms and Sansa remembered their laughter, and Meryn's inappropriate touches when he beat her…

Two of the knights were down, but there were still three left, and they were all going to descend on the Hound at once! Sansa had seen the Hound angry before, but never had she seen him so ferocious as he did that moment. She wondered how much of him was the beast and how much was the man. Wet blood coated his muzzle, and she shuddered. When his eyes found hers, however, he looked concerned. The black hatred that filled his grey eyes diminished somewhat, and Sansa sent him a soft look, hoping he would know she trusted him. That she wasn't afraid of him, not really.

Suddenly the knights moved as one and attacked the Hound. He roared and fought them, and for a moment all Sansa could see was a flurry of armor and fur. Over and over he dodged their attacks, biting and kicking at them, his bloodthirsty growls filling the air.

A movement to her left drew her eyes away from the scene, and she saw Meryn staggering towards her, holding his arm. He was breathing heavily and glaring at her with murderous intent. Sansa pushed to her feet and backed away, unsure of what she should do. Sandor was still heavily engaged in the fight with three other men, but he must have noticed her predicament, for he roared, "RUN SANSA!" She hesitated, watching as he disappeared beneath the men again, before turning and hurrying to the trees, heading for the cabin. She would be safe there. Sandor would kill those men and come back to her.

Branches clawed at her as she ran, but she paid no mind, bent on getting to safety. She was worried for Sandor, but he had told her to obey him, and there was not much she could do to help him anyways.

After what seemed an eternity, she could finally see the clearing up ahead, when something caught her ankle and she face-planted into the dirt, barely catching herself. Gasping, she rolled over to see what had tripped her. It was a thin but sturdy piece of string stretched between the trees. Her ankle throbbed, and she looked down to see that the strong had cut into her skin and she was bleeding.

She pushed to a sitting position, wincing at her scraped palms. Someone laughed, and she looked up to see two other knights walking towards her. The rest of the Kings Guard. Panicked, she began to scoot away from them. "Found you, girl," one of them said. "Did you think you could hide from the Queen forever?" He brandished a knife as a wicked smile spread over his features. "Leave me alone," Sansa answered, wishing she had some weapon. "The Hound is coming. He'll kill you." The men only looked at each other and laughed again. "I reckon the Hound's dead by now, girl," the second man spoke. "A bit unfortunate, since he can't see what we're going to do to his little pet."

Sansa whimpered as the men neared, hot tears beginning to run from her eyes. Her hand landed on something hard, and she glanced down to see a fair-sized rock. She clutched it and looked back at the men. One of them wasn't wearing his helm.

She waited until he drew a bit closer before launching the rock at his head, praying it hit him. To her surprise, the rock landed squarely on the man's temple. He cried out and fell to the ground, the large gash releasing blood. He was out cold. The other knight gaped at his fallen companion before turning to her, cursing. "Stupid bitch!" he spat. "You'll pay for that." He started to reach for her when something howled nearby, and a large hulk slammed into him, bringing him to the ground.

The Hound stood over the knight, growling. His eyes were black as coal and every hair on his body was bristled. "How…how are you alive?" the knight stammered, and tried to stab at him. Sandor tore the knife away, almost biting the man's wrist off. The knight howled as blood spurted out. "Please! I'm just following orders!" Sandor laughed at that, a deep throaty sound. "Too bad those orders are what's killed you." Baring his fangs, he lashed down at the man's throat and wrenched. The man's screams were cut off as his windpipe was crushed.

Sansa watched with horrid fascination, only turning her head away when the Hound moved off the body so she wouldn't see the torn throat. A shadow passed over her face, and she looked up to see the Hound's bloody muzzle. His eyes were drinking her in, concern replacing most of the rage. "Are you alright, little bird?" he rasped. She nodded shakily, and threw her arms around him, ignoring the gore staining his front. "You're here," she sobbed. He only chuckled. "Of course, little bird." She pulled away after a moment and tried to stand. Her ankle hurt, but she could walk. "What happened to the others?" she asked. "They're dead," the Hound answered, malice dripping into his voice. "I'll take care of their bodies later. Let's get you back to the cabin. You're bleeding," he nodded towards her ankle. "We need to see to that cut."

He encouraged her to ride on his back, so she did, gratefully sinking into the thick fur. He moved quickly to the clearing, and Sansa had never been so happy to see the cabin in all her life.

She waited inside while Sandor changed back into a human and grabbed some clothes off of the line. He entered the cabin, still panting, and hurried to her side. "I'm fine, really," she said in an attempt to calm him down. "It's not deep." Sandor only grunted as he lifted her ankle to inspect it. With a cool rag he wiped the blood away and applied some strange-smelling slave to it. It stung a bit, but his fingers were gentle as he spread the substance over her cut, and she relaxed. It wasn't until he was fetching some cloth to wrap her ankle in that she noticed his own injuries.

"Oh, Sandor, you're hurt." She reached for his shoulder, where a nasty gash stood out from his tan skin. "It's nothing," he grunted. Searching him over, she noticed other cuts and scratches over his arms and legs. The front of his chest and neck was caked in dried blood, but it didn't look like his own. "Please," she stilled his hands. "Let me help you." His steel-grey eyes sought hers, then he sighed and sat back. She finished wrapping her ankle and began to clean his wounds with another cool rag.

She worked in silence, feeling his heated gaze on her and she cleaned off the blood on his chest. She couldn't help her face from blushing as her fingers touched his hot skin. He was so very muscular, not just in his chest, but in his abdomen as well. Each muscle was carved as if from stone, a trail of dark hair leading down to his pants.

"Thank you," she whispered, tenderly applying the salve to his shoulder wound. "For saving my life." Sandor snorted. "Did you ever think I wouldn't?" She frowned. "No…but…" she sighed. "I was just thanking you." She dabbed at the wound with a clean cloth, wiping extra salve away, and began wrapping it. Sandor let out a deep huff. "Sorry, little bird." There was a pause. "You're…welcome."

Sansa smiled and looked at him. His eyes took her in eagerly, as if he hadn't seen her in years. One large hand covered her tiny one, and he lifted her fingers to his lips.

A/N: Phew! I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Anyone catch my tribute to the children's song "Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?"


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: This chapter reeks of Disney's Snow White, and I have no regrets!

Chapter 9

Sandor had waited until Sansa was tucked away in bed to rest before he headed back to the meadow. He still needed to dispose of the bodies in a proper fashion, in case the Queen sent more soldiers to search for them. As he moved through the forest, he began to recall the previous battle.

_"Run, Sansa!" he barked loudly to the little bird. She obeyed, fearfully, and he barely saw her fly away towards the woods before he needed to focus on not getting his head sliced open by one of the knights. Filled with renewed vigor, he launched into one of the knights, knocking him to the ground. In a flash Sandor half-lifted the man with his large jaws, and before the other knights could descend on him, he tossed the man towards them, knocking them down from the impact. Caught off-guard, one of the knight's sword accidentally cut into the thrown man's neck. A fountain of blood spurted out onto their armor as the man screamed, dying. _

_ Sandor quickly sunk his teeth into one of their wrists and bit hard, pulling at the flesh until he felt it give way completely in his hand. He spat the hand onto the ground, and the sword rolled out of the twitching fingers. The man was still screaming as he stared in agony at his bloody arm. Tears had started to pour down his cheeks, yet Sandor could find no pity for him. He would have hurt his little bird if given the chance._

_ The other knight had been struggling to push the body of the other off of him, and he sloppily swung his sword at Sandor, who easily dodged it and leaped on top of him, burying his teeth into the man's throat and ripping it out, silencing his shrieks. _

_ Sandor turned to see if Sansa had escaped. She was nowhere to be seen, but Meryn was still moving in her direction, clutching at his arm. Growling, he ran across the field. Meryn saw him and tried to run, holding his sword awkwardly in his other hand. Sandor crashed into him at full force. _

_ Finishing Meryn had been much more satisfying than the rest of the kills. Sandor tore at his other arm while the man yelled and swatted at him uselessly. Somehow he had lost a grip on his sword and it had fallen into the grass just out of his reach. Sandor bit a chunk out of his arm, then growled into his face. "What did I tell you?" he snarled. "That girl is mine, and no Queen or her buggering knights will take her away from me. With that, he silenced the man forever, ripping his throat out. Then he hurried for the clearing, stumbling upon the other knights and Sansa._

Sandor clenched his fists. If he had only arrived sooner, Sansa would not have been hurt at all. But she seemed alright…she had been more worried about his injuries than her own. Sandor was surprised that, kind-hearted as she was, she had managed to kill the one knight with a rock. He had feeling there was more to this girl than he thought…

Upon reaching the meadow, Sandor dragged the bodies together into a pile, rifling through their pockets and keeping the gold he found. It wasn't like they needed it anymore. He pulled off a lot of the armor and set it aside with the swords. He had a feeling it could come in handy, and he liked swords anyways. A part of him wondered what it would have been like to fight them as a human, armed with the large blade he had back at the cabin. It was too long since he had had arm-to-arm combat.

Finally done, Sandor stood before the pile of bodies, feet planted apart, and threw back his head to let loose a loud and long howl. The sound echoed through the meadow and spread into the trees. Crossing his arms, he waited.

A few minutes later something stirred in the bushes nearby, and slowly a pack of wolves emerged from the undergrowth, moving towards him. The scarred side of his mouth twitched as Sandor watched them coming.

The leader of the pack, a great grey wolf sauntered ahead of them. Sandor allowed himself to relax and opened his mind, clearing it from other distractions, and allowing a mental connection to open with the wolf. "_Hound_," rumbled the wolf inside his head. "_Greyback_," Sandor acknowledged. The wolf sniffled his palm, then sat, eyeing the mound of bodies. "_I have a large feast for you today. Hope you're hungry_," Sandor thought with a smirk. Greyback's teeth pulled back. "_We are. My pack thanks you. We will make sure nothing is left._" "_See that you do_." Sandor pulled away from the connection and stepped away.

Greyback howled, and the pack answered him as they descended on the bodies of the knights, snarling and fighting for the best parts.

Sandor turned and walked away, picking up the armor and swords as he left.

* * *

"What?!" Cersei shouted. "What did you say?" "They are all dead, your Majesty. The Hound must have killed them all," answered the mirror.

Cersei picked up the flagon of wine on her desk and threw it to the ground, smashing it to pieces. "How could this be?" she thundered. "How did he kill all seven knights?" "The Hound appears to be much stronger than we realized, your Grace," the mirror answered calmly. She groaned and collapsed into a chair. "Why can no one get anything accomplished?" She covered her eyes with a hand. "The fools…all of them. How hard could it be to kill a beast and bring back a girl?" The mirror was silent.

The thought hit her. "It looks like I can no longer trust anyone with this task," she spoke in a deadly voice. "I shall deal with them myself." "My Queen?" the mirror inquired. Cersei rose to her feet and walked to the far wall, where she pressed panels in, revealing another opening. "I shall handle Sansa Stark myself," she said. "And the Hound?" the mirror asked. A small cruel smile etched over the Queen's features. "He won't even see it coming."

She swept through the opening and down more stairs. The way was dark and damp, since it was near the dungeons, and Cersei could faintly hear rats scurrying in the walls. At the bottom of the stairs was a small room with a rough wooden table. Glass vials and various containers were strewn on top of it, and above was shelf filled with strange liquids and powders. Cersei marched to a shelf on the other side and pulled out a dusty tome.

Since Joff had been born, Cersei had busied herself with learning what she could about magic. There was still much she didn't understand, but she had the mirror, and she had managed to find some old books of spells and potions that had been forgotten in the palace library. Being Queen didn't give her much time to experiment on the more advanced spells, but she was willing to try one now that she had read about several months ago.

Flipping the yellowed pages, she found the spell. "I will disguise myself," she said gleefully. "The girl won't recognize me like this. It will change my beauty into hideousness, and my clothes to rags." Quickly she began to mix together the ingredients. "Mummy dust, to make me old. To shroud my clothes, the black of night." The dark liquid mixed with the powder in the goblet, turning it to eerie black ink. "To age my voice, and old hag's kettle." She turned the knob of a glass vial to mix a smoky substance, sending it through glass spirals before emptying to the cup with a sound like witch's laughter. "To whiten my hair…a scream of fright!" She added another drop of a white powder than caused the brew to bubble and unleash a billow of smoke filled with a terrified scream.

Finished with the ingredients, she mixed the contents in the cup until they turned into a sickly green liquid. Satisfied with the results, she lifted the goblet in a silent toast, and tipped her head back to drink it.

It burned hot and acidic down her throat, and she dropped the cup, barely hearing it shatter as she gripped her neck with one hand and the table with another. The room began swirl as she groaned and twisted. Her insides felt scrambled and a strange burning sensation filled her bones. The pain was almost too much, and for a moment she wondered if she had made a mistake.

Her clothes slowly changed into a peasant's garb, brown and patched. Reaching up with a shaking palm, Cersei felt her head and realized her long, beautiful blond hair and turned into white, and hard like straw. Then she saw her hands. Instead of the soft skin, she saw knobby knuckles and aged spots. The throbbing pain began to cease, and she bent forward, her back suddenly feeling much heavier her joints ached.

After she steadied herself, Cersei fumbled around for a mirror and held it up. She gasped, shocked at what she saw. "I don't even look like myself," she wondered, staring at the wrinkled old woman in the mirror. Her voice was raspy and cracked, startling her. All of her beauty was gone, but Cersei felt nothing but satisfaction. Glancing at the spell, she noted how long it would last. One day. That would surely be more than enough.

"Now that I'm disguised," she cackled. "Let's see what I can find for the girl." Flipping through the tome again, a faded picture caught her eye. "Ahhh…a poisoned apple. 'Sleeping Death'." She grinned, reading the spell's description. "Dip the apple into the poison, let it soak through the skin. Whoever takes one bite of this apple will be plunged into a sleeping death." Cersei thought for a moment. Surely this would suffice! It wouldn't take much to fool the stupid child into taking a bite. She was always far too trusting and slow.

Eagerly she fetched an apple from her solar above and brought it back down. The poison was mixed quickly, and the she dipped the apple into it, watching as the bluish slime covered the fruit and soaked into the skin, leaving nothing suspicious behind. It looked like an ordinary, juicy red apple.

Pleased with the results, Cersei was about to ready herself when her eye fell on the page again. "I better make sure there is no antidote," she mused, running a wrinkled finger down the page. "The only way one can break the sleeping death, is to receive the kiss of true love. Hah!" She cackled at that and slammed the book shut. "No chance of that happening."

She hobbled back up the stairs to her solar, coming to stand in front of the mirror. "Well, what say you?" she asked, holding her arms out wide. "A brilliant disguise, your Grace," the mirror replied. "And how do you plan to finish the Stark girl?" "With this!" She triumphantly presented the apple. "It is poisoned. The girl will suffer cruelly. Now, tell me the whereabouts of this Hound's lair." "My Queen, is it wise to go there alone? The Hound will surely rip you to shreds, even with this disguise," the mirror interjected. "I have a plan," the Queen said with a mad smile.

"There is something else you should know, my Queen," the mirror asserted some time later. "The Hound…he is not just a beast. He can transform into a man as well." "What?" Cersei exclaimed. "It is true. I saw him when I found the bodies of the Kings Guard." Biting a broken nail, Cersei thought for a moment. "No matter. I shall still kill the girl, and he will be left with nothing but the knowledge that his attempts to shield her from me were in vain."

* * *

Sansa awoke snuggled against the Hound once more, but this time she didn't move away. Instead, she curled up closer, taking comfort in his woodsy scent and the feel of his arms around her. She had had nightmares about the events of the previous day, and Sandor had held her throughout the night, reassuring her over and over that they were dead and could not hurt her. At one point she told him that Meryn had been the one to beat her at Joffrey's command. The Hound's eyes took on a murderous glaze and he had clutched her tightly, muttering curses under his breath.

As he held her and whispered to her whenever her nightmares had made her cry out in panic and fear, Sansa felt her feelings for him go from timid sprouts to full blossoms. She had never pictured this sort of man in her future, but now she couldn't bear to think of being with another. His scars, which once frightened her, were now familiar and interesting. He must have endured some great trial, and survived. Everything else, his strength, his protectiveness, his gestures towards her…they all accumulated in her heart until she felt it would burst.

Slowly she turned over so that she was facing his massive chest. Despite her attempts to not wake him, Sandor stirred and looked down at her. Apparently he was a light sleeper.

"Good morning," she said shyly. His mouth twitched, and one side curled up as he brought her closer. "Morning, little bird." His voice sent a delightful shiver through her. "I'm sorry I woke you so much last night," she spoke. "Think nothing of it, I don't sleep much anyways," he answered. They lay together in silence, lost in their thoughts, but still looking at one another. Sansa took in his facial features, so clear in the morning light. He had high, prominent cheekbones, and a strong chin. His nose looked as if it had been broken once or twice and never healed properly, giving it an almost hooked shape, but it only added to his character. His grey eyes watched her from under black eyebrows. _He has the look of the North_, Sansa decided happily.

"What are you staring at, girl?" Sandor rasped suddenly. She cleared her throat. "You, of course." She smiled and moved a piece of black hair out of his face. "I was thinking you looked more like a man of the North, than of the South." "Aye, I suppose I do," he muttered, rubbing a large palm over his beard. Sansa gently removed herself from his arms and stretched. Feeling the Hound's eyes on her, she decided to change the subject before he decided to do anything mischievous. "Are you hungry, Sandor?" that seemed to do the trick, and soon they were cooking eggs and long strips of bacon over the fire. "I have to go hunting for a while," Sandor commented as he wolfed down his breakfast. "I thought we had enough meat in the smokehouse, but I suppose we ate more than I thought." Sansa felt a jolt of excitement, not noticing his furrowed brow. With him gone, she could finally use the little clay oven near the fireplace to bake in. She had casually asked Sandor to bring home certain ingredients, and now she could surprise him with lemon cakes!

"Will you be alright?" he asked, shaking her out of her daydream. "Oh! Yes! Please, do not worry about me," she answered a little too quickly. Sandor studied her for a moment, then shrugged. "If you say so. I won't be gone long."

Soon he was ready to leave, and stopped at the door to watch Sansa washing the dishes. "You sure you're alright now?" he asked. Sansa felt her heart swell, and she removed her hands from the soapy water to throw her arms around him. "Thank you, Sandor, for worrying about me. But I'm quite alright. I'll be safe here." She smiled up at his confused and surprised face. "Hmm, you make me not want to leave now," he growled playfully, wrapping his muscled arms around her tiny waist and burying his nose in her hair. Laughing, Sansa gently pushed him away. "You must go. I will be waiting here for you." He gave her a lopsided smirk, then he was gone.

Sansa watched until he was out of sight before hurrying to pull all the ingredients out. Sandor had been confused as to why she wanted lemons, but she gave him some vague answer until his curiosity was soothed. Excitedly she set everything out. "Oh I hope he likes them as much as I do!" Lemon cakes were her favorite dessert, ever since she was a child, and Sansa had been craving them for some time. As she mixed the contents in a large bowl, she decided to open the window above the counter. Sighing happily, she hummed as she poured the mixing out into a pan. Everything was going to be just perfect. She would surprise him with the cakes, and then…and then, she would tell him how she felt.

She was unsure of how to do so, and just the thought made her heart beat faster and her palms sweat. What if he didn't feel the same way? What if he laughed at her? "Don't be silly," she chided herself. "He must care something for you." Surely he wouldn't mock or refuse her affections, not after everything they had been through. Perhaps he would even marry her! Sansa immediately began to envision their wedding, passing the time until it was ready to cut the cake into bars.

While they cooled, she mixed the frosting, licking the lemon goodness on her fingers. A shadow from the window passed over the counter, and she looked up and gasped.

An old woman was peering in at her. She was dressed in peasant's clothing, and carried a basket filled with apples. The old woman smiled, revealing a missing tooth. "Hello, dearie," she spoke in a cracked voice. Sansa swallowed. "H-hello. Who are you?" "Oh, I'm just an old woman passing by on my way to sell these." She patted the baskets. "I couldn't help but smell something delicious. Are you baking, my dear?" Sansa nodded. "Yes. Lemon cakes." She began to relax. Surely this old woman was just that: an old woman; she wasn't any harm. Sansa had forgotten Sandor saying that no one without magic could find the cabin. If she had, perhaps she would have remained suspicious.

"Ah! Lemon cakes! And so many," the old woman commented. "But it is apple pies that are truly delightful! Apples like these!" The old woman produced a shining red apple from the basket, holding it out to her. "These are the best apples in the land, dearie. Go on, taste it and see for yourself." Sansa glanced at the apple reluctantly; it did look good. Before she could answer however, a little flock of birds came out of the trees and swarmed the old woman, chirping loudly and pecking at her. The old woman yelled and tried to beat them off helplessly. "Oh!" Sansa rushed outside and shooed them away. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what's got into them. The birds have never acted like that before!" Sansa exclaimed, staring at the tree where all the birds had settled. The old woman was muttering something, picking up her basket. "Here, please let me help you." "Oh, my heart!" the old woman cried out suddenly. "Please let me inside to sit down."

Sansa helped the old woman inside and went out to pump some water for her. In her haste, she did not notice the flock of birds rise up and fly away quickly into the forest.

After the old woman had drunk the water and caught her breath, she turned to Sansa with a smile. "Now dearie, because you've been so kind to old granny, I'll share a secret with you." She produced the red apple. "This is a magic wishing apple!" Sansa blinked uncertainly. "A wishing apple?" "Yes! I have had it for many moons, hoping to find someone worthy of it. Take one bite, and all your wishes will come true!" Sansa's thoughts flew into a flurry. All her wishes come true! She and Sandor could be together and live without fear from the Queen! "Surely there's something your heart desires? Perhaps…there's someone you love?" Sansa blushed. It had been so long since she had been in the company of a woman that she felt the urge to indulge. "Well…there _is_ someone," she giggled. The old woman looked surprised, but quickly smiled. "I knew it, I knew it!" She came forward and gave Sansa the apple. "Now take it dearie, and wish." Sansa glanced at the apple, turning it over. It looked perfectly ordinary, but Sansa had encountered so much that it didn't seem unlikely that this old woman was telling the truth. After all, if it turned out to be a normal apple, it wasn't as if she had lost anything by it.

"I-I wish…that Sandor and I could live happily ever after," she whispered, smiling. Once more the old woman looked surprised. "That's it, girl, now take a bite, before the wish grows cold!" Sansa closed her eyes, and raised the apple to her mouth, biting into it.

The inside was juicier and sweeter than apple she had ever tasted before. Sansa slowly chewed the piece and swallowed, thinking about taking another bite when an icy cold began to spread through her stomach. "Oh…" she gripped the counter as the room began to spin. The ice crept up her body and down to her legs. "I feel so strange…" The old woman's smiling face grew blurry, and Sansa's vision grew dark. Panicking, she dropped the apple, and began to cough. The cold feeling began to stiffen her limbs, and Sansa felt it creep into her chest, squeezing her heart in a painful grip. The last thing she heard as she fell to the floor was someone saying, "Now _I'll_ be fairest in the land!"

A/N: Don't hate me!


	10. Chapter 10

Happy New Years everyone! I'm sorry this took so long to update, but life has been crazy. Thank you as always for your sweet reviews, they mean a lot!

There will only be one more chapter after this, but I'm interested in writing a sequel, so, thoughts?

Enjoy!

Chapter 10

Cersei had never felt more triumphant than that moment of watching the Stark girl's face turn to an icy white as she fell to the floor of the cabin. The apple rolled out of Sansa's hand, and Cersei decided to leave it; it completed the picture of tragedy. Smirking, she swept out of the cabin, eager to put some distance between her and the Hound before he returned from wherever he had gone.

It had taken her a long time to find the cabin that morning. The looking-glass could tell her where the clearing was, but not much beyond that since the shield prevented his magic from poking through. Cersei was sure, however, her magic of disguise was one that would not have been foreseen by the Hound, and the shield would not be able to prevent her from passing through to whatever was on the other side.

_When she had finally come to the spot where the mirror had directed her, at first all Cersei saw was an empty clearing, surrounded by trees. She wandered about for a few minutes, cursing the looking-glass, until she noticed something peculiar. At a certain point the air in front of her would get distorted, like looking through a bubble. Cersei carefully reached out and touched the air, and her fingers brushed against some kind of layer. She pushed on it more until her arm came through. Stepping back, she retrieved a small hand-mirror from her basket of apples. "Looking-glass, I think I have found the shield. It seems to be complacent enough. My arm was able to reach through." "It is possible the Hound is not there, then. His presence must be what strengthens the shield." _

_Satisfied, Cersei put the mirror in her peasant's garb and stepped forward. She met with some resistance at first: the shield pulled on her clothing and hair, and felt sticky, but she finally made it through. Before her was the same clearing, only this time a little cabin rested in its center. And she heard singing. Looking around and seeing no one to fit the Hound's description, Cersei hobbled towards the cabin, clutching the basket of apples. _

As she pushed through the shield and into the forest, Cersei could feel that she was coming back to her normal self, but she was too ecstatic to think about it.

* * *

Sandor cursed himself as he tried to finish rigging one of his deer traps. His thoughts were continually on the little bird, and he wasn't paying attention until he sliced his finger with a knife. "Stupid dog," he growled, sucking on the cut. "Pull yourself together. You'll see her soon enough." As much as he tried to relax, Sandor couldn't help but feel anxious and nervous. That morning, as he watched Sansa smiling and waving him on, he had decided to tell her how he felt.

The problem was he didn't know how to articulate his feelings into words. Sandor was always more a creature of action; it would be easier to just scoop her up in his arms and kiss her, rather than sit her down and tell her….tell her what? That she had become everything to him? That he wanted her and nothing else the rest of his days? That he didn't want her to ever leave him?

The trap finally finished, Sandor stood up and sighed. He wasn't sure if he loved the girl, as he had never experienced love before, or if he was just obsessed with her. _Maybe they are the same thing_, he wondered. Love and romance were always exulted and turned into wonderful songs and pictures of tenderness: probably what Sansa expected to hear from a lover. Sandor winced at the thought. He would never be able to charm her with words, but words were just words, weren't they? Didn't actions say more?

He could feel a headache coming on.

"Dog," he growled to himself. "Just tell her, seven hells." He walked farther into the forest, looking for another place to set a snare, when another thought hit him. As daunting as it would be to spit his feelings out into words, nothing compared to the anticipation of her reaction to his admission. A lump started forming his throat. He knew whatever the outcome, she would be as courteous as possible, as she always was. Sandor felt he would rather her laugh at him than try to spare his feelings.

_I'm just a dog after all. And she's….well, she's a lady. Practically a princess. Not fit for someone like me. She deserves a prince or some stupid lord._ At the thought of some nameless, handsome man taking Sansa away, Sandor growled and clenched his fists. No, he wouldn't let her go. _She's mine!_

Even if Sansa didn't immediately return his feelings, perhaps with time she would come around. He smirked at the thought. _And I've got all the time in the world._

He paused for a minute to listen to the forest, when his hair stood up on the back of his neck. He gripped his sword and turned. The distant sound of birds crying reached his ears, growing louder and louder. Soon he could hear the beating of wings.

A group of sparrows burst through the trees and surrounded him, whirling about in a cyclone of frenzy, chirping frantically. "Slow down!" he barked. "I can't make out what your blasted chirping means." The birds tried to settle in some branches, but each continued to sing out various words until Sandor heard "Girl….old woman…the cabin…death! Death!"

A cold hand closed around his heart, and he ran, the birds rising up in a cloud and following him, as if to lend their flight to his own.

Sandor had traveled far into the woods, but running at full speed let him reach the clearing faster. The cabin looked the same, but it was very quiet, and a chilly sweat took hold of him. Keeping his sword drawn, Sandor hurried to the cabin. The door had been left open.

At first glance he simply saw the open window above the bed, and all the baking spread along the table, which had been pushed under the other window. Another step in and he froze, choking.

Sansa lay sprawled on the floor. She looked horribly white and still, and one slender arm stretched out towards the door. An apple lay near her hand. Sandor dropped his sword and rushed to her, pulling her half-way into his lap. "Little Bird…" he choked. Her skin was like ice, and with shaking fingers her felt her pulse.

A ringing filled his ears, and Sandor let loose a roar of anguish. "No…..no…!" He gripped the lifeless girl in his arms, rocking slowly. "No…Little Bird…." His vision blurred as a pain pierced through him, deeper than the pain his scars had ever caused him. Breathing suddenly felt impossible, and the air grew thick and constricted. Sandor realized he was sobbing wretchedly into her neck, grief and shock hitting him in waves. "You can't be dead…you're supposed to live…you're supposed to be mine…" He cradled her head and looked down at her, willing her to open her eyes and for this to be just a nightmare.

But it was real, and Sansa continued to lay in his arms, limp and cold. "No no no…..Little Bird…come back to me…." He rocked her, staring into her face, beautiful even n death. "This is my fault….I left you alone…" Angry with himself, he squeezed her tighter. "I should have been here…I was supposed to protect you….I promised…" He smoothed her hair. "I'm sorry…" His voice broke and he bent his head to her neck again.

Time seemed to have stopped, but Sandor finally lifted his head again, and instead of tears and sadness, his eyes were black and filled with hate and anger. Something within in him snapped as he stared at his Little Bird, and a black, all-consuming rage filled him, screaming for blood. He carefully lifted Sansa into his arms completely and carried her to the bed, laying her down on the furs. Then he turned and looked down at the apple.

One bite had been taken. He put his gloves on and reached down, picking it up. It looked like a normal red apple, but Sandor smelled something different about it. The red skin suddenly began to darken to a black, and grey mold cropped up along it. A faint outline of a smiling skull appeared, and Sandor dropped it in disgust. A poison of some sort, and brought by someone who had enough magic to find the clearing, yet inconspicuous enough to not be seen as a threat by the shield. He turned to the window where all the sparrows had been watching silently.

"You said something about an old woman. Who?" The birds could only chirp about a strange old woman in peasant's garb and carrying a basket of apples, and that she had told Sansa to take a bite. He swallowed hard, fresh anger and grief struck him. He turned back to Sansa and took one of her cold little hands in his own. "Poor bird…" he stroked her hair with his hand. "I'll find who did this to you, and I will kill them. I promise you that." He leaned forward and brushed her forehead lightly with his mouth, then pulled away, shuddering.

Standing straight, he held out a hand above her body and muttered a long spell, slowly moving his hand up and down as a shimmery but see-through case, like glass, enveloped her. A preservation spell.

That completed, Sandor walked out of the cabin, tearing his clothes as he morphed into the Hound. Grieving could wait; he had vengeance to carry out. Someone had dared to assume they could hurt his Little Bird and get away with it...he gave a bitter laugh. Well, they were about to find out how wrong they were.

He threw back his head and howled several short howls and long barks, then waited. He preferred to kill this person as a human, to gut them through with his sword, but he would find them much faster as the Hound. And with some help.

A short moment later he heard answering howls pierce the air, and seven wolves bounded into the clearing. Greyback paced forward. _What is it, Hound?_ Sandor growled low. _Someone has killed my beloved. Help me find them_. The wolves cocked their heads and murmured amongst themselves. _This doesn't affect us,_ one wolf interjected. Sandor snarled at him, baring his teeth. _She was a Stark of Winterfell, of the North! They carry the Direwolf as their sigil. She is a representation of your kind. She is your pack. Do you not avenge your pack members? _

At this speech the wolves all grew tense and growled. Greyback's eyes narrowed. _We will follow the scent and help you find this killer,_ he said. Sandor nodded at him, and allowed the wolves to go near to the cabin sniffing. Sandor didn't doubt his own abilities as a tracker, but he knew the more help he had the better chance there was of finding this old woman. If she was sent from the Queen, she could have protection.

He sniffed around himself in the cabin, and locked onto an unfamiliar scent that made his fur bristle. That was it.

With a loud bark, he headed off into the forest, joined by the howling chorus of the wolves. The hunt was on.

__A/N: ohhh Sandor is sooo pissseddd...


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Sandor raced through the forest, the scent growing stronger. All around him the wolves howled to each other, spreading out to make sure they stayed on the trail. The thought that he might soon catch up to Sansa's killer fueled the rage and need for blood, pumping adrenaline through his mind. He knew he would never forgive himself for not protecting her, for not being there for her, but at least avenging her murder would ease some of the guilt, and perhaps allow her some peace in whatever afterlife there was.

He was startled for moment as the scent changed, but remained somewhat familiar. There was nothing else to go on, so he continued, barking to the wolves. Sandor became aware that the scent was leading them in the direction of the kingdom. He snarled, hate clenching him. _The Queen_.

A few new scents suddenly filled the air, and Sandor slammed to halt, sniffing the air to assess the situation. Greyback trotted to his side. _Smells like men._ _Good,_ Sandor thought back, his mouth pulling back over his teeth. _I like appetizers. _Greyback gave some commands to the other wolves, who began to spread out, encircling the thicket where the scents were wafting from. Sandor crouched and inched forward, until he caught a glimpse of armor through the trees. He crept closer.

In a small clearing stood a handful of soldiers, gathered around a tall, blonde woman. She was beautiful in a terrible way, and a sneer graced her red lips as she fussed with her clothing and the knights. Sandor immediately knew who she was. Queen Cersei.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Greyback awaiting his signal, and he nodded his head.

With a myriad of howls, the seven wolves bounded into the clearing, attacking the soldiers and taking them off-guard. The men yelled and tried to pull their swords out of their scabbards, but they were knocked to the ground as the wolves tore and snapped at any exposed skin. The Queen screamed and stumbled backwards, tripping over her long skirts. Sandor watched with pleasure as she began to crawl backwards, terrified.

Now he stepped into the clearing, pausing to pin down one the soldiers who had managed to knock off a wolf. With his teeth he tore the man's helmet off and bit into his neck, ending the man's shrieks in a fountain of gushing blood. Tossing the man away from him, he looked up to see that the Queen had fled. "Oh no you don't." With a bark, he took off through the foliage, leaving the wolves to finish off the soldiers as they liked. _This one is mine._

In spite of her skirts, the Queen managed to run to the bottom of a cliff and was busy climbing the rocky face when Sandor bust into view behind her. Snarling, he jumped and snapped at her feet but she was just out of reach. One of her shoes fell to the ground. Sandor paced under her, growling, trying to figure out how he could climb up after her. He spotted an outcropping of rock and jumped onto it, searching for more larger rocks to climb to. He began to gain on her.

Cersei looked down at him, her knuckles white and bleeding where the rocks had scraped her, and her face filled with fear and loathing. Their eyes met. "You won't escape," Sandor growled as he pulled himself up onto another rock. "I'm going to kill you for this." Her face was white and splotched with exertion, but somehow she continued climbing, gasping for breath.

Sandor watched her reach the top, but it was no matter; he could see she was too tired to get very far. A feeling of triumph washed over him as he realized he was almost to his goal. Just as he was nearing the top a large rock was pushed over the edge, hurtling towards him. Quickly he leaped out of the way, but the rock managed to graze his shoulder. He looked up and growled maliciously at the woman peeking down at him. "That all you got!" he barked, and resumed his climb.

The sky had begun to darken, and black clouds rolled over the forest. Sandor felt a grim satisfaction at this as he hauled himself to the top. Before him stood the Queen, her fine dress torn and dirty. He realized that the other side of the cliff led to nothing, it was straight drop to the other side. The part that was connected to the mountain was too steep to climb. She was trapped.

Sandor growled and moved closer as Cersei backed away from him. "You. You killed her, didn't you," he rasped. The Queen regarded him coldly. "I did. But there's still a chance for you. Let me go, and you can have anything you want." Sandor snorted. "Can you give me back the Little Bird?" She was silent. "I thought so." He paused and cocked his head. "My sources told me an old woman killed Sansa. A disguising spell I presume? Very clever, for an amateur." The Queen's green eyes narrowed as she tried to draw herself up tall. "You can't kill me," she whispered. "You might avenge your Little Bird, but you will forever face the wrath of my son, the King. He will hunt you down like the animal you are. There is nowhere you will be able to hide. To kill me would bring your own destruction." Sandor rolled his eyes. "Spare me. There's nothing you can say that will save you." He began to move closer again. The Queen faltered and began backing away, but there wasn't much room left. "You killed her over beauty. As if you could ever be as beautiful as her." The thought of his poor bird, laying still and cold back in the cabin, set fresh anguish into his heart, and strengthened his resolve to kill this bitch. He prepared to lunge at her when she suddenly held out her arms and cried out, "Wait! She's not dead!"

Sandor should not have stopped, but he did. "What's that? Speak, wench!" The Queen drew a shuddering breath. "The Stark girl….she's not dead. Not exactly." Sandor narrowed his eyes. Surely this was a trick. "I used a spell called the Sleeping Death," Cersei explained. Raindrops started to patter the ground around them, and the distant roll of thunder echoed through the air.

"You're telling me that she's only asleep?" A spark of hope struck inside him. She nodded. "She will sleep forever, and there is only one way to break it. But I will tell you only if you promise to let me go." Sandor growled. He was torn with the desire to save Sansa and kill this woman. He did not want to spare her life. But if it was worth waking Sansa…

Before he could answer, lightning suddenly struck a tree that was rooted near Cersei and the edge of the cliff. The bright light blinded them both for a moment, and the ground shook under the impact. Sandor heard a cry and saw one of the heavy branches fall. It struck Cersei and she screamed, the branch throwing her off-balance. Sandor rushed forward but he was too late.

The Queen fell backwards over the side of the cliff, her screams echoing off the mountain. Sandor reached the edge and looked down, barely making out her twisted and broken body on the rocks below. The tree had caught fire, but the rain began to fall harder and quickly extinguished it. Sandor stood at the edge, wondering now what he was supposed to do.

* * *

Sandor pondered what little information the Queen had given him about the spell over Sansa. There was hope that it could be broken, but how? There could be a thousand possible ways…and Sandor knew he would not stop until he found it out. Somehow feeling more despaired than he had at Sansa's "death", he returned to the little cabin. Though the rain had lessened into a light drizzle, his thick black hair was plastered to his body, chilling him.

Once inside he became a man again, and dried off quickly, slipping into some pants and a tunic. Sansa lay on the bed where he had left her, still cold and lifeless. Sandor pulled up a chair and sat down wearily, gazing at her. "I tried, Little Bird," he whispered, burying his face in his hands wearily. "I don't know how to free you from this curse, but I won't stop until I figure it out." He sat in silence, listening to the raindrops pattering on the windows. It seemed appropriate that nature should mourn with him.

When Sandor had begun his way back down the cliff, he saw the wolves waiting for him, and they whimpered at the news he gave them. _At least she is avenged_, Greyback told him. Sandor simply walked away, thanking them in a low voice for their help. He didn't feel like he had avenged Sansa, and though there was a possibility for bringing her back to life, his lack of that crucial bit of information left him feeling more hopeless.

With a sigh, Sandor rested his chin on his hands, contemplating the girl before him, and what he was supposed to do now. The preservation spell would last a while, but since she was asleep, not dead, perhaps she didn't need it. He took one of her icy hands in his, placing a kiss on it, then let his eyes wander to her face. Even in this strange form of death, she was beautiful. Her rich auburn hair shone against the white of her skin, and her lips had taken on a darker red color. It made his heart twist to look at her, to know that she may never open those blue eyes again, may never smile at him again, or snuggle against him at night.

Sandor's eyes burned, and he dropped her hand so he could rub at the offending moisture. He thought of all the things he had meant to say to her only a couple of hours ago, and now he might never get the chance. His hands curled into fists.

"Sansa…Little Bird…I don't know if you can hear me, but…I want you to know that…" he swallowed. "That I need you." He stood and bent over her, stroking her cheek lightly. "I'm sorry this happened. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you." He was choking now, his voice sounding bitter and harsh. The shock of the situation was hitting him truly now, and his body shook with rage and desperation and fear. Fear that he might have lost her no matter what the Queen said. "Please…" he held her face in his large palms, and touched his forehead to her own. "Please…Little Bird…don't leave me alone."

After standing that way for a few minutes, Sandor gently kissed her forehead. "I was such a fool, Sansa, to have left you. It serves me right. I never deserved you, and you didn't deserve to spend the rest of your days with a brute like me." He gave bitter laugh, scorning himself. "I can't even take care of you." With a sigh, he drew back, looking at her. The pureness of her skin beckoned him, and he traced her chin and cheeks with his fingers. His thumb brushed over her mouth, and he was suddenly filled with the desire to kiss her. It might be the only time he ever could, now.

Slowly, he lowered his mouth to her own, and brushed his lips over her soft ones. A jolt raced through him, and he broke away, stumbling towards the door. "That is not how our kiss should have been," he rasped quietly. He jerked the door to the cabin open and walked into the yard, standing still in the rain.

* * *

Sansa was underwater. Heavy, and no sounds reached her, yet she could breathe. She was so cold…why was it so cold? And dark. Dark everywhere she looked. She tried to move her arms, and found herself unable to. Something was weighing her down, and she cried out, but heard nothing. Her voice was stolen by the darkness.

How long had she been here? It felt like few minutes and a hundred years. Then she saw a soft light begin to glow in the distance, and she struggled towards it. Oh, if I can only reach that light! She found herself able to move, and she began to swim upwards, away from the black water and to the light. It came nearer, and she felt a surge of warmth and happiness fill her, right down to her toes. Black became a soft amber and yellow, and Sansa was floating, feeling dreamy. She felt loved, and she loved back, embracing the waves of joy that crashed over her.

Someone was talking to her. A man. She couldn't hear his words, but his voice was fading quickly. Then it was gone, and she felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped over her. Why was he leaving her? Then light around her shone so bright she shut her eyes.

Instead the red inside of her eyelids, Sansa blinked, and saw the ceiling of a cabin fade into view. She lay for a moment, trying to remember why she was laying down. Had she had an accident? What…oh! The memory hit her like lightning: the old woman…the apple…a cold hand squeezing her heart…

She sat up quickly, and the room spun. Dazed, she swung her feet over the edge. Where was Sandor? Desperate to see him and be held by him, Sansa shakily crossed to the open door and saw Sandor standing in the yard, his tunic and pants wet.

Her brows furrowed. What was he doing? Why was he letting himself get all wet and cold?

"Sandor?" she called out tentatively. His back stiffened_. Oh no, he's mad that I let that old woman inside, I bet. _She cleared her throat when he still didn't turn around. "Sandor?"

She watched his fists clench, and he swung around so quickly she jumped. His mouth fell open and he gaped at her like he was seeing a ghost. _What was going on?_ In hurried strides, Sandor raced towards her and scooped her into his arms. "Little Bird!" he rasped, shaking. He sank to the ground, taking her with him, and held her tight and rocked her, whispering her name over and over. Confused but please with his presence, Sansa held him back. Something must have upset him. "It's ok, Sandor," she rubbed his back comfortingly. "Everything's alright, right?" He pulled back from her, taking her face in his hands. "Sansa," he whispered. His eyes were darkened and so filled with hunger that it made Sansa feel weak.

"Are you alright?" he was asking. "I-I think so," she responded. "I must have fallen asleep, all I remember is eating an apple and an old woman…" she trailed off, feeling like something was missing. Sandor let out a shaky breath. "What happened?" she asked. "Little Bird…you were cursed. That old woman was the Queen in disguise." He swallowed hard, pulling her against him once more. "I thought I'd lost you…I thought you were…"

Now she remembered something about the old woman saying _she_ would be the fairest in the land. Sansa pulled away from Sandor this time and touched his scarred cheek. "I'm sorry to have worried you so…" her sentence was never finished, because Sandor had crashed his mouth on to her lips. Sansa froze, her brain scrambling to contemplate what was happening, when she felt that same warm feeling rush over, the one she had felt while she was asleep. Sandor. She melted into his embrace, shyly kissing him back. And she knew.

_He loves me._ The thought made her feel giddy and scared and happy all at once, but her thoughts were scattered as Sandor deepened the kiss, easing her mouth open and sweeping his tongue over her own, and Sansa lost herself to his touch. Nothing else mattered in the whole world but this moment as she clung to him and they kissed frantically. She felt him shift, and suddenly he had lifted her into his arms and was carrying her, never breaking the kiss. He lay her down on the bed, both of them sinking into the furs. Sandor slowed their kiss until he finally pulled away, and they each caught their breaths, staring at one another. Sansa felt utterly entranced by his dark eyes and the desire that lurked with in them, and she spoke the words she had wanted to say earlier. "I love you, Sandor."

The man looming above her blinked in surprise, and his face struggled to stay composed, until a smile, a true one, broke out. He leaned down and kissed her again, more softly this time, and whispered, "I love you too, Little Bird."

The End

A/N: Well, th-th-th-th-that's all folks! I hope you enjoyed the story, I know I did! It's been lovely writing it and reading your reviews. I decided that I will write a sequel sometime, but not for a while, as I need to get back to A Twisted Game.


End file.
